


sunflower

by xintong



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean magic, Falling In Love, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post S8, Post-Canon, Seemingly unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/pseuds/xintong
Summary: On the morning of their first summer back on Earth, Lance receives a gift of sunflowers. A confession, a rejection, and the passage of time, all leading to the one person who's always been there for him.





	1. prologue.

On the morning of their first summer back on Earth, the sky a bloom of reds and star-kissed blues, Lance receives a gift of sunflowers.

Bright and bold and endlessly beautiful, the flowers spill inside his arms, every petal a golden ray of sun. Faintly, he hears Keith mumble something, words soft as a daybreak moon. His fingers brush warm against Lance’s own before letting go.

Lance, still cocooned in the cusp of sleep — still out of breath from tumbling off the bed, from running across the dewy fields to welcome Keith from a long journey back — flushes rosier than the dawn. 

“Keith,” he gasps, pressing the flowers close to his chest. Yellow dapples the cotton of his shirt and drifts to the tops of his bare feet. They must even kiss the apples of his cheeks. “Where did you find these? I thought they were extinct.”

No sunflowers were found after the war. No wreathe of yellow or black pop of seeds, an entire species wiped from existence. Yet here, right by Lance’s heart, they blossom radiant and proud.

“I’ll show you someday,” Keith answers, his lips a half-tilt, his eyes full of light. Lance pouts at him, but he can’t help the gravity of his smile, too. The motion no longer feels familiar, but it feels good. It feels right.

“So secretive,” he mock grumbles, ducking his nose behind the petals, thinking that’s just like Keith. Quiet and mysterious yet bright as a sunflower, his warmth and sincerity reaching everyone he touches.

Later that morning, Lance fills the prettiest vase from the kitchen cupboards, and smiles everyday after as he passes by. When the first bouquet wilts, Keith gifts another, and whenever he walks down the dirt road, crossing the field with Kosmo at his side, Lance finds himself looking for that brilliant bloom of sun, cradled in his arms.

Among all the gifts Keith brings him on his visits, Lance grows to love the sunflowers best.

.

.

.


	2. present, second fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sincerity is scary — the 1975  
> let go — beau young prince  
> painter (valentine) — låpsley

Rain falls the day Keith tells him he loves him, warm and whole with sunlight. 

“Race ya!” Lance shouts, laughter ringing bell-like across the field as they run toward the barn for shelter. Keith catches him by the edge of his shirt and pulls him back to his chest. Lifts him clear off the ground and spins him around with ease. Shrieking and laughing, Lance tries to wiggle out of his grasp, determined to win by reaching the destination first.

“Keith, that’s a foul! You gotta—” Another peal of laughter bursts from his lips when Keith’s fingers dig into his sides. “Gotta go back!”

“You can’t make up rules just cause you’re losing Lance!” Keith teases, his voice a warm, breathless rumble against Lance’s neck. Lance twists and elbows that lovely smirk off his face, and Keith releases him with a soft, ‘oof.’ Then, he’s sprinting through the grass, feeling the wind sift through his hair and the rain soothe the burn of his lungs. Feeling achingly bright. 

When they cross the threshold of the barn at the same time, they’re both too out of breath to debate exactly who won. Below the awning of the entrance, slivers of sun graze the sides of their arms and cheeks, droplets amber against their skin. Sunlight pools across the field, like honey dripping off the comb, and the late August heat cloys to every inch of them, keeping them warm.

Keith’s hair is matted down and even darker than before, slipped loose from his ponytail. His dark blue t-shirt is drenched from shoulders to stomach, the fabric tight around his chest, tracing every line and ab. Lance is similarly dressed in white, the thin cotton soaked and transparent against his skin, but he hardly notices.

The crescent moons framing the corners of his eyes are tingling, glowing faintly in the pulse of heady sunshine. Everything smells so richly of earth, of life. The magic in those marks likes this kind of weather, Lance notes, a shiver of contentment gliding down his spine. Keith observes his reaction, but misinterprets the goosebumps rising on his arms as a result of being cold.

“This should let up soon,” he says, “then we can go back.”

Lance nods, peeling the hem of his shirt off his stomach, twisting his fingers through. He watches the rain fall, golden hour hazy and sweet, gilding the world. He wouldn’t mind staying out here for longer, honestly.

“Thanks for today,” he says, feeling lighter, like his worries flew away with the rush of wind and dissolved in the pour of rain. “I didn’t realize how stressed I was until you dragged me away.”

He looks up, smiling, and catches the movement of Keith’s eyes flicking away. The older man’s cheeks are still flushed from the run, a dusting of pink on the sharpness of his cheekbones. He’s tanned over the summer, just a shade, after burning horribly the first few weeks on the farm, helping Lance and his family out.

“Anytime,” Keith grunts, clearing his throat. He’s staring rather determinedly at the sun. Maybe he wants to fight it. Weirdo. Lance giggles, bumping their shoulders together.

“Hey, I’m gonna hold you to that, galaxy-trotting humanitarian.” His voice sobers, mind wandering to a question he’s been avoiding, though now’s a good moment as any. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“Two months, give or take,” Keith responds, hands hooking into the pockets of his jeans. “Depends on how bad the damage is.”

_Two months._

Something painful blooms inside Lance’s chest, an ache sharper than he expected.

Keith’s been visiting the farm almost everyday this past summer, roaring down the dirt road at dawn on his hover bike, dragging Lance out of bed when he didn’t have the heart or energy to move. It will be strange not having him around, eating all of Lance’s pancakes and seducing all the hens into giving up their eggs. Rachel’s deigned him “adequate for the male form” — the highest praise coming from her — and Mamá and Papá have grown to love him like another son. They’re always grateful for all the work he gets done around the property, even though he’s hilariously bad at milking the cows.

“Your friend’s an angel, _mijo_ ,” Mamá had gushed when Keith fixed their front porch just cause he had time on his hands, sleeves rolled up over strong biceps slick with sweat. “Handy with tools and a sight for sore eyes, too! Even with that scar on his face.”

 _I think the scar makes him more handsome_ , Lance remembers saying, unwittingly out loud. He’d snapped his mouth shut immediately and walked straight into the screen door in his haste to get away, causing Rachel to howl at him from inside the room. Lord, that had been _so_ embarrassing. At least only Mamá had heard what he said.

Unwanted, roiling warmth in his belly aside, Lance couldn’t deny how thankful he was for Keith’s presence — for everything the former paladin leader had done for him and his family, really. He’d gone back inside and made a pitcher of strawberry lemonade, setting his mind to a calming task and pressing ice cubes to his cheeks to cool his head. Then, he walked back out to sit on the newly minted porch with Keith, watching the sun lower behind the foothills, talking and laughing and feeling at ease. Feeling happy. 

Keith made him happier than he’s been in a long while. Lance will miss him when he leaves, more than ever this time.

“I’m proud of you, Lance. For taking this step.”

Keith’s warm, deep voice draws him back into the present, and reminds him of the reason he was so anxious and stressed today in the first place.

Next week, he’ll be teaching piloting courses at the newly-built Garrison branch, along with a curriculum about the history of Voltron and Altea. After almost two years of tending to the farm alone, he figured it was time to move forward and do something else. Hunk was out there bringing the planets together with his culinary skills, and Pidge and her family were innovating Earth and alien tech almost daily. Lance wanted to do something meaningful, something more personal, for the galaxy, too. And maybe telling kids stories, teaching them how to navigate the vast universe they existed in, was a place to start.

“Well, you don’t know how it’s gonna go yet,” he says, trying not to let his nerves reappear. He’s been the guest speaker at university seminars and spoken to Altean elementary schoolers at teachers’ requests, but to run a class of his own? For a whole year? 

Keith bumps his shoulder this time, his gaze crinkled soft. “Hey. You’re the Red Lion of Voltron, you’re amazing with kids, and you know your mee-mees, whatever they’re called. What could go wrong?”

As always, Keith manages to cheer him up with only a few simple words. Lance bursts out laughing at his awful butchering of the word ‘memes,’ masking the skipped beat of his heart with a mock crease of his brows.

“They’re _memes_! And don’t jinx it!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I meant everything will go wrong and the kids will rebel against you and dunk your head in Iverson’s office toilet.”

“Keith!” Lance gasps, scandalized.

“What? It’s the worst case scenario I could think of to cancel out the jinx.”

“Oh my god, you’re terrible!” Lance laughs, shoving his chest. “I hate you!”

Keith pokes his forehead in retaliation, and then they’re chasing each other around the barn, kicking up hay and waking up the horses, nickering in annoyance. Somehow, Keith manages to catch him again, and Lance dissolves into a helpless heap of giggles in his arms, accepting defeat.

He really will miss him. So much. He always laughs the most when he’s with Keith.

The atmosphere changes, the barn quiet save for the drum of rain against the rooftop and the murmur of wind. Keith’s palm rests against the small of his back, and Lance takes comfort in the weight of him, strong and steady as his breathing slows. The air is sweet with bruised earth, fresh grass, and Keith’s warm, campfire scent. He resists the urge to lean in and rest his cheek against Keith’s chest, knowing he’d only be lulled to sleep there.

When he looks up, his smile slips to one of bemused interest, Keith’s expression strangely serious and faraway. His eyes are as dark as summer damsons, lashes limned gold by the setting sun, and Lance’s breath leaves him, unsure of the tightness in his chest.

“Keith?” he asks, soft.

“I love you.”

Surprise flickers across Keith’s expression, as if he wasn’t expecting to say those words out loud. Lance feels his heart stumble, but he laughs softly, wondering what could’ve brought this on.

“Of course, we’re best friends. I love you, too.”

“No, Lance, I’m—” Keith’s brows crumple, but his voice doesn’t waver when he continues. “I’m in love with you. As more than friends.”

“Oh.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens and closes again. It’s useless. He watches helplessly as Keith’s jaw goes tight, his eyes shuttering, closing off. He steps away, and Lance tries not to sway at the shift in gravity, the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you here, now. You can forget it if you want.”

“No, it’s okay!” Lance waves his hands frantically. “I, um, uh…” What’s he supposed to say in a situation like this? He’s never been on the receiving end of a confession! And… to receive one from Keith… Lance’s heart flails in every direction, elated and confused and helpless.

“Thank you, for telling me. This is the first time anyone’s confessed to me.” Keith looks surprised to hear that, and somehow troubled, too, lips curving down. But before he can ask, Lance barrels on. “I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

 _Feel the same way? Return your feelings?_ Those words feel bitter and wrong in his mouth, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I know.” Keith looks to the side, his face half-shrouded, half-drenched in light. “You don’t have to apologize or comfort me. I’ve… known.”

There’s so much defeat and surety in his voice. It cuts through Lance like nothing else.

“Keith, please don’t—” Lance grabs his wrist, something desperate and scared rising inside him, clawing at the base of his throat. “You’re still my best friend, no matter what.”

Keith pulls away, and Lance’s heart plummets. But then he feels a warm, callused palm sliding beneath his, holding him steady.

“And you’re mine.”

The way Keith says it has heat bursting along Lance’s cheeks, the storm in his chest quieting, dissolving into a low, thrumming warmth.

“I mean, I didn’t mean it like— Jesus I keep fucking up right now—” Keith’s eyes drift up, as if praying to a higher power. Lance can’t help but giggle softly at the bashfulness of his expression. It’s so much more endearing than he expected.

“You’re my best friend, too,” Keith says, exhaling deep before offering an earnest smile. “And I’m happy with the way things are between us.”

There’s still a shadow of sadness in Keith’s eyes, and for some reason, it feels familiar. Has Keith looked at him like that before? Has Lance simply not noticed it? How long has he been hurting, all on his own?

“Keith—”

“The rain’s stopped. Let’s go before it starts again.”

Keith walks away, and Lance has no other choice than to follow. He jogs slightly to keep up, taking in the strong set of Keith’s shoulders, the broad expanse of his back, wondering when things had changed so much, wondering why his heart won’t stop aching like it’s lost its other half. 

Keith slows, looking back with a smile, and Lance swallows the weight in his throat, smiling back.

They fall into step, side-by-side.

 

.

.

.

 

Keith returns to the Blade at the beginning of September, taking the crates of produce Lance had packed for his journey.

Most were for the relief efforts, but some were for the ship itself. Extra loads of eggplants because the Galran crew is weirdly obsessed with them. Extra bundles of daikon and sweet potatoes because Keith likes them.

He leaves behind the last bouquet of sunflowers on Lance’s kitchen table with a simple note: _Thank you._

_See you soon._

Lance feels the overwhelming urge to yell across the galaxies at him. 

September becomes the longest month Lance ever endures. Realistically, he knows two months is no longer than any of the other trips Keith’s taken in the past, even significantly shorter compared to the ones he used to go on. But to Lance, it feels as if time’s bent on reversing itself rather than flowing forward, dragging out every day, hour, second.

Obviously, he knows the reason why he feels that way. How could he not, when Keith had dropped that bombshell of a confession on him and then left less than a week later? Lance hadn’t had the time, barely even had the chance, to adjust to their new dynamic.

Not that the confession had to change anything, of course. In fact, Lance needed Keith to stay the same. Needed him to still be his best friend, his pillar of strength. In the aftermath of the war — _her death, her sacrifice_ — on the hardest days it was Keith who managed to get him out of bed. Keith who coaxed him gently and patiently to brush his teeth, eat some breakfast, step outside, if only for a minute.

Keith saw him at his absolute worst and brought him back from the edge. Day by day, piece by piece. He taught Lance to smile again, to have hope for the future. Lance didn’t want to lose him to something that would only complicate things in their relationship.

 _You wouldn’t be losing him though_ , the voice that’s been tormenting him for the past few weeks chides. _He told you he’s in love with you, and you know you feel something for him, too, something so overwhelming you’re scared to face it. But if you only gave that a chance_ — 

Lance shakes his head, physically forcing the meddlesome thoughts loose.

He knows all too well that, at the very least, he’s disastrously attracted to Keith. There’s no use denying that at this point. Anyone with eyes would see that Keith’s a solid twenty out of ten, with those dark eyes, broad shoulders, and crooked smile. In a way, Lance has always noticed him, but up until now he’s never had time to give that attraction much thought.

He doesn’t _want_ to give it thought.

Thank God the farm keeps him too busy to think much about anything else most days, as do his classes at the Garrison. Teaching is good. His kids are good, with their wild hopes and crazy dreams and endless wealth of curiosity. He learns just as much from them as they learn from him. They ask the most unexpected questions — from Altean pop culture to how the Lions recharge themselves — and attempt the wildest tricks during the simulation runs, maneuvers that even experienced adults are too afraid to do. It terrifies Lance as much as it amazes him.

It reminds him of how he used to be, when he also feared nothing.

He gets to see Pidge almost everyday at the Garrison as well, and they’ve grown close again. Some days after school, she’ll kidnap him from his classroom and hold him hostage in her lab. They’ll play video games until dinner, chat with Hunk or hang out with the MFE pilots, and it will feel like old times when they were still students at the Garrison themselves.

Sometimes Pidge will bug him about the marks on his cheeks, question him for data about how they feel and whether or not the magic’s changed. It’s the only aspect that makes him uncomfortable during their time together, but he knows she means well, that she’s just worried about him in her own way. She always stops when he tells her it’s too much.

At the end of the day, though, what he looks forward to the most is still Keith, who video calls him whenever he gets a chance. Always, there will be bruises beneath his eyes, but he’ll give a smile nevertheless, as if to say, _I’m okay. Just a lil’ tired, nothing bad._

He asks how Mamá and Papá are; if Rachel saw that space cat video he sent cause she left him on read; how teaching is going and whether or not Lance has actually been dunked into Iverson’s toilet. He’ll listen attentively to even the most mundane parts about Lance’s day, from watering the pumpkins to performing the Heimlich on a student who swallowed a fidget spinner.

Compared to Keith’s own stories about his travels from planet to planet — meeting strange new life forms and making valuable connections for the Coalition — Lance can’t help but feel… a little envious? Keith has the craziest adventures, with so many places and people and magic left to be discovered. His stories stir something within Lance, a craving that aches sharper and more often than he expects. 

He hasn’t piloted anything for two years; something he used to love so dearly now pains him more than anything else. Yet when he thinks about flying to wherever Keith is in the universe, it doesn’t fill him with the same nausea or fear.

“Lance, what are you thinking about?” 

Lance tilts his eyes back up to the screen to find Keith looking at him, expression fond and bemused. There’s the faintest trace of a smile, lambent around the corners of his clear, dark eyes. It makes Lance’s heart swoop.

 _Have you always looked at me like that?_ Ardent and gentle and so full of warmth, as if Lance was all Keith could ever see. As if Lance was the earth and he was the moon, helplessly pulled into gravity.

 _What do you see in me? What do you like about me?_ Keith had said he was in love. With him! That’s… So much. _How long? When?_ There were so many questions, and none Lance could ask. Not if he was serious about staying friends with Keith.

 _Nothing has to change between us_ , Lance reassures himself. Eventually, Keith will move on — find a lover, get married, and Lance will be his best man, his best friend for years to come.

And yet, for some reason, that thought doesn’t comfort him at all.

“You,” he answers. _I’m always thinking of you._

He nestles his head into the crook of his arm, his bed sinking comfortably around him and his eyes drooping in time. Through the earpiece, he catches a quiet hitch of breath, sees the bob of Keith’s throat as he swallows. In the woolliness of half-sleep, Lance doesn’t register what’s wrong, not until he hears Keith murmur roughly, “Don’t say that when you’re—”

Keith shifts his eyes away, and even through the fuzzy screen, Lance can see the red tint of his cheeks. He frowns in confusion, before looking down at himself.

Oh.

He hadn’t noticed the strap of his tank top slipping off his shoulder, the collar so low his nipples peek out. Suddenly, the image Keith must see dawns on him — his shirt half off his chest, his hair mussed, lying in bed.

_Christ._

“S-Sorry,” he stutters, scrambling to make himself decent. Distantly, he wonders about that day in the barn. That sunshower confession. His shirt had clung to every crevice of him, transparent beneath the light. Was that why Keith had been averting his eyes?

Warmth curls low in his belly, strange and sweet and dizzying. _You’re so stupid, Lance. How could you—_

“It’s fine.” Keith looks back at him once he’s all covered up below the sheets, even though every inch of his skin is burning. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up at this hour. You should get some rest.” 

“O-Okay.” 

“Goodnight.”

Keith shifts to turn off the connection, but then Lance blurts out, heart thundering, “Keith, when are you coming home?”

Keith startles slightly at the outburst, pausing in the motion. Then, his eyes soften, laugh lines kissing the edges of his mouth.

“Soon. I’ll be home soon.”

He gives Lance one more smile before logging off, the screen turning black.

As soon as the connection’s cut, Lance flails out of his burrito blanket, his skin a hot, woozy burn that won’t die down. His heart thrums like a hummingbird’s wing beat inside his throat, and he has the craziest urge to go for a midnight run, maybe sprint through the fields while yelling at the top of his lungs.

 _What is wrong with me?_ Why is he feeling this way? Restless and embarrassed and giddy as a child on Christmas Eve, all because Keith smiled at him. All because Keith told him he loves him.

He wanted Keith to stay the same; he told Keith himself that they were going to be okay. And yet here Lance was, the one who was changing. Day by day, piece by piece. 

His chest aches. 

His marks hum.

 

.

.

.

 

He used to cover the blue crescents on his face. They used to hurt too much to look at.

Each morning, for several months after the war, Lance would painstakingly conceal the marks underneath his eyes, layering on swatches of concealer, making sure not even a glimmer bled through. He wanted to remember her, but he couldn’t stomach the memory of her sacrifice either. Of what she had to give up in order to save the universe.

Now, he touches them tenderly, wishing them good morning, coaxing the magic to feel the air and bring warmth to his cheeks. They twinkle in response, excited to start the day, already aching for the taste of sunlight and fresh toiled earth. Even in late fall, quintessence, the essence of all life, thrums through the richness of Lance’s garden, and the magic within him is starved for it.

Quickly, he brushes his teeth and goes through his skincare routine, massaging his face with honey scrub and moisturizing his skin to dewy softness. Then, he’s bundling up into his coziest blue cardigan, shuffling down the steps and out onto the porch, tugging on his work boots.

October’s been gray and rainy this year, the steady drum of rain lulling him to sleep late last night. Now, a sheen of mist rolls over the meadows, softening the earth beneath his feet and blanketing the fields of juniberries in the distance. Their bright pink petals twinkle through, vibrant in all seasons save for winter. In the back of his mind, they hum and echo, sated from the pour of rain, buoyed by the gentle tide of quintessence always lapping at their roots.

The marks connect him to her, but it took him a while to discover that they connected him to the fabric of the universe, too. Somedays, when he’s out in the garden and if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the saplings stretch against the dirt, reaching for raindrops, leaves gulping sunlight like spoonfuls of ambrosia. He feels the air differently now as well — tasting lightning on the horizon, the roll of thunder in his bones, or the whisper of snow. Every speck of life feels significant, _loved_ , down to the smallest ladybug resting on his fingertip.

He channels some of that magic as he walks through the rows of pumpkins and butternut squash in the front yard, feeling their condition and growth. The sweet potatoes this harvest will be the sweetest they’ve ever been. Lance imagines how they will taste roasted over an open campfire, his family sitting around the crackling flames, laughing as they break bread together. In that daydream, Keith is sitting beside him, their thighs pressing against each other as Keith wolfs down a potato of his own, fanged tooth flashing at Lance as he smiles. 

Keith.

Always back to Keith, who’s so full of life, of spirit and energy. It was Keith who helped him start to think differently about the marks she gave him, as a gift to nurture rather than a painful memory to forget. Lance still smiles whenever he recalls the Blade leader bursting into his room, a giant sack thrown over his shoulder and Kosmo steadfast at his heels, the stormiest look brewing in his eyes.

Despite how intimidating Keith appears sometimes, his heart has always been soft at the center. When he sat down on Lance’s bed and reached to touch his feverish cheek, he was nothing but gentle. Guiding him to sit up from his cocoon on blankets. Voice soft as a summer drizzle.

“Veronica called me,” Keith tells him in his memory. “Said you haven’t been eating or sleeping.”

“Ronnie called you?” Lance sniffles. The fever that had taken advantage of his weakened immune system has left him all snotty and gross. He wishes Keith didn’t have to see him this way, falling apart at the seams, reflected by the disarray of his room and the decline of his body.

He wishes none of them had to — his family who’ve been worried ever since he came home, Hunk and Pidge who visited to keep him company and brought him bowls of soup. Shiro and Coran with their fatherly pats. Hell, even some of the MFE pilots, like Kinkade and Rivazi, who did their best to cheer him up.

And now Keith, who flew all the way from Daibazaal just to check in on him.

“Acxa had her number,” Keith answers, absentmindedly nudging Kosmo away when the space wolf tries to climb onto the bed, too. Lance doesn’t have the energy to inquire into _that_ matter, though he’s known Ronnie and the Galran mercenary grew close during the war.

He tries to offer a smile that only stretches into a grimace. “Sorry she bothered you when you’re busy leading an entire planet. You don’t have to be here.”

“No, I do.”

The breath hitches in Lance’s throat when he sees the fire burning in Keith’s eyes, fierce and brimming with determination and warmth. Time has only been good to the Black Paladin, carving his features with an edge of maturity that has only made him more handsome. Lance thinks back to when they were both still wide-eyed and soft-cheeked, wondering when they had grown from boys to men.

Gently, Keith takes his hands, cradling them loose between his wider palms, as if giving Lance the chance to pull away. As if scared that he will.

“Lance, you helped me when I was grieving the loss of my brother,” Keith says, voice scraped raw with sincerity and something unknown. Something that echoes in Lance’s own heart. “Let me at least try to do the same for you.” 

During the war, whenever Lance had felt anxiety and doubt or simply missed Earth, he went to Keith. Keith, who grew from his worst rival to his best friend. Who learned to speak with his heart on his sleeve, giving it away to anyone in need so selflessly. Keith always helped Lance feel better, his anchor in every storm. He forgot he had once been an anchor for Keith, too.

A part of him wants to run, but the other, more beaten part of him has starved for too long, been alone for too long, to reject the source of comfort that’s always been there for him.

He nods, not looking up, and feels Keith sigh against him, the tremor of his war-torn hands easing. His thumb rubs circles against the hollow of his wrist, the touch more soothing and grounding than Lance expects. They stay like that, until Keith says, “Your marks. They’re gone.”

“No, they’re still there,” Lance answers, soft and broken. “It, um— It hurts to look. That’s why I cover them everyday.”

Keith moves away, coming back a few minutes later with a warm washcloth and a cup of tea, setting it carefully on Lance’s knee, urging him to drink. After the honey relieves Lance’s throat, Keith sits closer, holding the washcloth up.

“May I?”

Lance doesn’t need to ask what Keith’s intentions are, and keeps still as slowly, tenderly, Keith rubs away the concealer staining his skin, hiding away all the hurt. Each pass of the washcloth burns him, despite the gentleness of Keith’s touch. Every scar reveals itself, from stress acne to sleep bruises, and Lance has never felt more exposed, more vulnerable.

More cared for. 

Eventually, the marks appear, glowing mutely beneath Lance’s red-rimmed eyes. Keith gently presses his thumb against the crescent, delicate as the brush of a feather, and Lance’s heart misses a beat, as if searching for another.

“These marks Allura gave you, do you really think she did it to remind you of her sacrifice everyday? So that you would grieve and mourn her memory forever?” Lance flinches at the sound of her name, but Keith is strong for the both of them, bracing him against the waves that threaten to swallow him under. “What would she have told you, Lance?”

And maybe the answer’s always been inside him, but Lance has been too lost since her death to look for it. A sob wrests the twist of his mouth, because to realize is to let go, and he hasn’t been ready to let her go. He didn’t want to accept that he was strong enough to do so.

“To move on. To carry on her legacy on my own terms, as my own person.”

Keith nods, brushing the tears streaking down Lance’s cheek with his thumb.

“She gave you a gift that she knew only you could use and make the best of, because she believed in you. Because she knew, just as we all know, how strong you are. How smart and brave and kind you are, and that’s why you have to bear these marks. That’s why you need to honor them. So believe in yourself, Lance. We’ve all got your back.”

His voice wraps around Lance’s heart like a salve, soothing its burns and broken edges. Those words are too good for him — _Keith is too good to him_ — yet somehow he finds the strength to fight through the self-violence and nods, another wave of ugly, fat tears blurring his vision. He wipes them away with the sleeve of his shirt, and Keith moves away to give him space, to get him more tissues, more cups of tea from downstairs.

He says nothing when he comes back, and lets Lance empty all the hurt built inside him, leaning against his shoulder and wetting the collar of his shirt. When Lance’s tears finally dry, his cheeks taut and his eyes stinging, Keith wipes his snot and everything away, not once complaining.

“What do you do for your skin routine?” he asks afterwards, setting the washcloth on the bedside table, palm resting flat on the bed once more.

Lance lifts a brow, feeling the motion pulling his skin. He really has lost a lot of weight. “You want a lesson?”

“If it will get you to start doing something you love again.”

Keith leans over to reach the foot of the bed, hand grappling the handle of the giant tote bag he slugged into the room earlier. “I wasn’t sure what to get you so I just bought—” he tilts the bag, and a literal mountain of beauty products tumbles out onto Lance’s mattress, “every kind of face mask they had in the store.”

“Keith!” Lance’s jaw practically unhinges itself from shock. “How much money did you spend?!”

“It was nothing. Here, I’ll do one with you.”

Keith rips open a random package with his teeth like an animal, then pulls out the wet, sticky face mask with a vague look of disgust.

“Do I stick this on my ear?” he asks, holding it to the light, nearly shredding it apart in his hands as he tries to fit it over his head.

“No! That’s a hole for your nose, dummy!” Lance yells, panicked and aghast and thrilled all at once. The sound that spills from him is sudden and belly-deep. It warms his chest, makes his heart ache differently.

He hasn’t laughed in so long. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until his laughter dies down, finding Keith looking at him with fond eyes and the softest smile.

“There you are.”

 _What do you mean?_ He almost asks. _I’m here, I’m here._ Wasn’t he?

Lance drops his gaze, feeling inexplicably shy. Seen.

That night, he falls asleep with a clean, dewy face, the ghost of Keith’s fingers running through his hair. The next morning, Keith comes back, and together they clean up his room. Do a fresh set of laundry. Play fetch with Kosmo in the fields until the sun sets.

Not once did Keith lose patience with him, even on the days where Lance would relapse, refusing to get out of bed or throw the bitchiest fit, screaming at Keith to leave him alone, that he wasn’t worth it. Keith stayed, every time, and if not him then Kosmo, until Lance felt whole enough again to move on his own feet. He went to therapy. He spent time with his family. He slept less, cried less. Ate more, until he made himself sick on nostalgia. Laughed more, too, until his cheeks ached and his chest burned.

A month later, he puts dons his best suit and goes to Shiro’s wedding, feeling his heart swell with happiness for his former leader, mentor, and now lifelong friend, finally finding peace with the love of his life. He accidentally catches the bouquet, and passes it on to Romelle. Drinks and laughs and cause mischief with Hunk and Pidge. Accepts, with a strange flutter of his heart, when Keith asks for a dance.

The marks didn’t hurt after that. 

As he digs through the soil for more sweet potatoes, brushing the dirt away, a chime echoes from the tablet in his pocket. It’s a notification to check a message, a voice recording from last night.

_Hey Lance, you fell asleep during our call, so I decided to leave you a message._

At the reminder, Lance flushes pink with embarrassment and regret, but Keith’s soft voice eases him, coaxing a smile as he listens.

_I’m coming back in a week. We won’t be able to celebrate my birthday together like you wanted, but I think Zethrid and some of the Blade members are planning something. I’m… honestly kind of scared for my life? Last time they set me up for a chocobo race on Eos. You know how that went._

Lance laughs softly, moving on to pull out the radishes, remembering the look on Keith’s face in the photographs Ezor had sent him.

 _There are people on Nabaley that really want to learn how to grow cabbages. I was thinking… well._ Keith sounds nervous here, and Lance can practically see him rubbing the back of his neck, an endearing habit whenever he’s self-conscious. _I thought maybe you could teach me, and I’ll teach them._

_I’m bringing home some new plants that I think you’ll like. There’s a fruit here that kind of looks like a shark, with teeth and everything. I guess it tastes like a strawberry? Still not as good as the ones in your garden, though._

There’s a pause. On the horizon, the sun rises, its light unfurling like the petals of a sunflower, a gentle, unwavering warmth that reminds him of Keith’s smile. He stares into its radiance as he listens to Keith’s next words, feeling his heart ache so deeply it feels like it’s breaking in two.

_I miss you. Everyday._

_I hope that’s okay for me to say._

 

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.


	3. winter, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> location unknown — honne  
> on the radio — regina spektor  
> offonoff — 춤 (dance)

November arrives the way twilight falls: just a blink, a lapse in thought, leaving only the dredges of autumn heat and winter frost.

“You seem happy.”

Rachel’s voice drifts into the kitchen with a pale shaft of sunlight, dawn a blue rumor on the horizon. Lance lifts his head, tilting his neck toward his sister leaning against the banister of the staircase, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair, unruly as always, is halfway out of her bun, the ends curled up like feathers.

At one point in their lives, the lengths of their hair had been the same, and no one could tell the two of them apart save for the birthmark behind Lance’s ear, a starburst of dark. 

“Do I?” He keeps his voice quiet, because it’s six in the morning, and Mamá and Papá are sleeping in. Rachel will milk the cows in the pasture at seven o’clock sharp, and Lance will go chat up the portly hens, sweet-talking them for a fresh basket of eggs. Then he’ll tend to the field of beets and butternut squash, until it’s time to head to the Garrison for class.

Lance pauses in his scrubbing, realizing the plate in his palm was shiny two rinses ago, the water foamy with soap suds, trailing up his wrists. He sets the plate on the rack as Rachel pads over, the soles of her feet a lisp against the dark oak floors.

“You were humming.” Rachel pulls out her bowl of blue with the sheep painted on by Nadia, before rustling through the cupboards for frosted flakes. Her voice is light as she speaks, but Lance feels the weight of them nonetheless. “You haven’t hummed or sang in ages. I missed it.”

Lance comes to register the texture of his throat, slightly scratchy from use. He’d been humming as he did the dishes, a song he heard on the radio last night, soft and low with static. He couldn’t remember all of the words, but the tune slipped easily on his tongue, slow and sweet like a lullaby.

_Traveling to places, ain’t seen you in ages… But I hope you come back to me…_

_My mind’s running wild with you far away…_

_I still think of you a hundred times a day…_

“He’s coming back to you, isn’t he?”

“What?”

A particularly loud crunch of cereal drowns the sudden pitch of his voice, but his face must be telling enough.

“Your friend,” Rachel says, swallowing. Her eyes are lighter than his, and they’re always bright with an inkling of mischief. “The Black Paladin.”

Lance’s grip slips on the cup he’s been furiously drying with a towel, along with a missed beat of his heart. “You know his name, Rache,” he grouses, hating how his cheeks warm, how right she is about the source of his happiness. “Stop being so dramatic.” 

“Says the drama queen,” Rachel snorts, meandering to the breakfast table with her bowl. Lance, for once, sagely ignores her.

Keith will be back this afternoon, returning to the Garrison Coalition Headquarters for the usual report on the Blades’ progress with their humanitarian efforts. It’s not like Lance has been counting the days or anything, ever since Keith brought it up. He may have marked it in his calendar, posted a few sticky notes around the room, set several alarms, but that’s just the normal amount of excitement for seeing his best friend again, right?

Lance tucks the dishes away, leaving Rachel to her cereal as he walks to the foyer and grabs his jacket off the hook. Out on the front porch, he sits on the steps to shove on his black rubber boots, the soles smudged with chunks of hay and dried mud. It’s been a stormy autumn, rain and sleet sloshing from the mountains into the fields, soaking the earth to a steady flood. Trudging through the mud, he picks up the basket by the coop and softens his steps as he enters, not wanting to scare the hens.

Crouching low, he coos at Patricia, Butterscotch, and Lady Thor resting inside, trying to coax them from their roost. Tragically, all three ignore him with their beaks snootily turned up. Lance heaves a tired sigh.

“Ladies, hey. I know I’m not as good looking as Keith, but please? I really want to make my famous breakfast burritos. He’s coming back today and they’re his favorite.”

“What’s my favorite?”

Lance jumps and lands backwards on his ass, scaring the hens into an indignant flurry. They cluck and strut away, just as a giant blue space wolf pounces on top of him, nuzzling his chest and licking his cheeks, slobbering drool everywhere.

“Hey, Kosmo, down boy!”

At the command, Kosmo retreats with a whine, allowing Lance to sit up and wipe the drool off his face. He giggles at the space wolf’s forlorn expressing, pressing a kiss to the side of his snout, before looking toward the source of the voice, steeling himself.

It’s no use, obviously.

His heart does a spectacular belly flop off the dive the moment his eyes land on Keith standing in front of him, dressed in combat boots, dark jeans, and the brown-red leather jacket Lance had found for him in a thrift shop months ago. His hair is tied back in his usual ponytail, though it’s even longer now, the ends brushing the crook of his shoulder. It looks like someone took a pair of kitchen shears to his bangs and chopped them blind, yet they somehow still complement the angles of his face.

There’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand, purple petals lush and fragrant, flickering dewdrops of gold in the morning sun. Keith always brings him flowers after a trip, among a variety of other items from space that “made me think of you” or “I thought you would like.” He’s terribly sweet like that, the considerate bastard, and of course, he just has to come back looking—

 _Fine! Adequate!_ Lance’s mind screeches, refusing to turn into the human equivalent of a tomato the longer he stares at Keith. _Okay, he looks ruggedly handsome but now! Is not! The time!_ _Channel Rachel, Lance. All male forms are only adequate!_

It dawns on him then just how terrible he looks himself, ass flat in the mud with his baggy gray sweats and giant olive parka. Not to mention his face is still bare and now slick with dog drool, so all his pimples must be visible from a mile away. _Noooo_ , why did Keith choose to show up _now_ of all times? Lance needs to tidy himself up, make himself presentable!

 _Why do_ you _suddenly care so much?_ Inner Rachel counters, entirely uncalled for. Lance kicks her out of his consciousness. _Stay cool, Lance, stay cool—_

“Hi,” Keith says, eyes soft as the sunrise and smile just as warm.

“H-Hi,” Lance manages to squeak in response, before dropping the basket and scrambling to his feet. “Bye!”

He bolts for it, slamming through the front door and scampering up the stairs, tracking mud be damned. 

“Is he okay?” he hears Keith ask from below, having followed him inside. 

“Oh yeah. Just male hormones, you know?”

Rachel slurps the last crumbs of her cereal, and Lance slams his door shut, sliding to the floor with a groan. 

 

.

.

.

 

Half an hour later, judging by the ecstatic barks and mooing in the distance, Kosmo finds Kalternecker in the pasture, and Lance finds Keith seated at the kitchen counter, head bent low as he whispers to Rachel. Along with the bouquet of flowers, there’s a fresh basket of eggs beside them. No doubt the hens had preened and puffed at the mere sight of the Blade leader, those feathery traitors.

Keith’s clutching a bowl of cereal of his own, piled high with cocoa and peanut butter puffs. His fingers tap lightly against the likeness of Bigfoot Sylvio had etched so proudly into the red ceramic. Even in the pale light, the new scars on his hands stand stark against his skin — pink and white, raw and faded. Lance feels a tug in his chest, imagining laying Keith’s palm across his lap and bandaging each burn and cut. Ask him how he got them. Scold him for not being careful when he’s so far away and Lance is stuck here, unable to help him.

“So, have you had a piece of that apple pie yet?” he hears Rachel ask, her voice suddenly pitching louder.

 _What apple pie?_ Lance wonders, just as Keith chokes on a mouthful of cereal.

“Rachel!” he growls, wiping his mouth with the napkin she hands over, her laughter chiming silver through the room. His crumpled brow eases when he catches sight of Lance coming down the stairwell, dark eyes widening as if he’s seeing dawn weave gold across the ocean for the first time.

“What are you two up to?”

Rachel’s smile, like the cat that got the cream. “Plotting your demise obviously.”

Lance holds back the incredibly adult urge to stick his tongue out at her, and Keith scrapes up from his chair, that wonderstruck expression veiling over.

“Are you headed to the Garrison?”

“Um, yeah.”

Lance tugs the hem of his Garrison uniform, freshly showered and hair blow dried and straightened. He’s presentable now at least, but with the way Keith’s looking at him, he wishes he could run back upstairs and take a shower again. Melt into a soapy puddle and dissolve down the drain. Warmth thrums through his belly, slow and strangely satisfied.

“I can give you a ride,” Keith offers. “I need to meet up with Kolivan anyway.”

Lance’s gaze drifts to the window, where he sees Keith’s motorbike parked by the low fence, red and black and hell on wheels.

“Oh no you’re not, not on that death trap!” The dirt roads are iced over from the storm last night. One bump and slide and Lance can see their heads cracked wide open.

Keith frowns. “I made it just fine coming here. I would’ve taken my hover bike but it’s in—”

“If you’re coming, then we’re taking Bessie.” 

“Bessie?”

The next thing Keith knows, he’s strapped into the passenger seat of Lance’s ratty blue pick-up, grip knuckle-white on the window handle. The truck sputters and jostles down the road, spitting ice sludge everywhere as they swerve and careen into the city. Lance belts out Bea Miller the whole time, blissfully ignorant of Keith’s turmoil.

“You drive like the first time you flew the Blue Lion,” Keith groans when they eventually pull to a stop in the parking lot. There’s no malice in his comment, but the mention of Blue still has a way of burrowing under Lance’s skin. He turns off his engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, all the while quipping, “Look at you, getting a ride to the Garrison _and_ down memory lane! Must be your lucky day.”

Keith lurches forward. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“No not in Bessie, Keith!” Lance screeches, straight up shoving the half-Galra out the passenger door.

Some dry-heaving and several chugs of water later, Keith looks sufficiently less green and able to stand on his own two feet. Lance gingerly wraps his arm around Keith’s waist and tucks his head underneath his arm, letting Keith lean half his weight against him as they head over to the school.

“Jeez, was my driving really that bad?” Lance asks, worrying his lip. He’s starting to feel apologetic, just a smidge, but his heartbeat eases at the sight of Keith’s wry smile. The light of the winter sun catches silver in his hair; strikes the indigo of his eyes and brings out his laugh lines.

“No, it wasn’t. I just have dirt legs.”

“Dirt… legs?” Lance wracks his brain for whatever common turn of phrase Keith butchered this time. “You mean like… _sea legs?!_ ”

“Yeah, that.” Keith waves his hand dismissively. “I’ve been in space too long.”

He seems to be fine now, ‘dirt legs’ and all, but neither of them try to detach from the other as they enter the building. Laughter spills from Lance’s throat, clear and bright, and he doesn’t notice himself pressing closer to Keith’s heat, like a cat basking in the warmest patch of sunlight.

It’s a short walk to his classroom, one of the first down the hall. At the door, they separate, Keith’s fingers brushing down the small of Lance’s back as he lets go. Every pinpoint of touch is an electric spark, and Lance bites down on a shudder as he steps away, feeling a phantom tether between them, like the pull between magnets. The marks on his cheeks tingle.

His students aren’t here yet, so he takes his time setting up while Keith looks around. Christmas lights are already strung all over the room, garlands either haphazard or neat depending on which group of students did the task. A few stray pinups of werewolves and vampires are still left on the walls, along with diagrams of yekruts, a type of space turkey found uniquely on Altea.

Lance throws open the curtains, seeing snow beginning to fall outside. Tufts of white drift languidly past the tall windows, shafts of wintry light tumbling into the room, drenching the sixteen desks arranged into four even rows. A pile of blue cushions and blankets sit in the corner — a cozy nook that even the upper class-men know about for the occasional nap or alone time.

The space is a constant lesson on entropy, but overall it’s organized. Keith leans against Lance’s desk and lifts the framed photo sitting at the corner, the one with all the paladins and Coran gathered beneath Allura’s statue. He stares at it until Lance walks over, coming to a stop in front of him.

“It’s a bit messy, but…” Lance takes one last survey of the classroom, an unconscious smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “The kids tell me it feels like a second home, so I must be doing something right.”

Part of him doesn’t care what Keith thinks, having found pride in his teaching and his students, but the other part of him craves his best friend’s approval anyway. He wants Keith to be proud of him. To be reassured that he’s making strides and doing everything right.

Keith sets the photograph down, directing his full attention on Lance. His gaze crashes over like a tidal wave, enfolding him into its warm, dark depths. Lance feels an intoxicating mix of overwhelmed and overjoyed at the unguarded look, heart brewing up a storm.

“It’s very you,” Keith says simply. Lance laughs at the plain, unadorned statement, flicking his eyes down, fingers twisting inside his pockets.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Good. I like it.”

_I like—_

The word goes unspoken, but Lance feels it nonetheless, pressing his heart like a flower between worn pages. They’re close, and the current tugging between them is almost palpable. If he wanted to, Lance could count every one of Keith’s dark lashes, map the sun freckle on the edge of his brow to the curve of his nose. If he took another step, he’d be standing between Keith’s legs, and Keith’s hands could find rest on his hips rather than the ledge of the table.

Then Keith smiles, warm as a cup of honeyed tea. “I missed you,” he says, softly. Lance’s breath hitches in his throat, the thunder of his heart rising to his ears.

“I missed you, too.” _More than you know._

“I could bring coffee later, during your lunch break? As long as that’s all right with you.”

There’s a boyish hopefulness to his expression, one that makes him look impossibly more handsome. Lance tries not to swoon. 

“Y-Yeah. That’d be, ah, nice. Way nice.” He nods frantically, then kicks himself for acting like a dumb bobblehead. “Thanks.”

“See you later then.” 

Keith’s smile tilts crooked, roguish, and then he’s pushing off the table and walking out the door. Lance stares after him, surprised he hasn’t gone into cardiac arrest yet from the whole exchange.

Unfairly attractive Keith he’s learned to deal with, but an unfairly attractive, thoughtful, and confident Keith who confessed his love to him? Who offered to bring coffee to him? Lance’s heart might seriously fly out the window and skyrocket into space. His thoughts swirl to the forefront now that he’s alone, a cataract he’s tried so hard to keep at bay.

_How do you see me now, Keith, after two months apart?_

_Do you still think of me the same?_

_Do you still love me the same?_

Lance doesn’t realize how much time has passed until his kids start trickling in, staring at their teacher who’s muttering to himself and floundering oddly like a beached fish. 

“Teacher Lance, Teacher Lance!” Mariel waves frantically, concern furrowing her impressively thick eyebrows. Lance fails to respond, and the furrow deepens. “Are you having an anal-prism?”

“Aneurysm, Mariel,” Kat corrects smoothly from behind her, Mariel’s girlfriend of five weeks, three days, and going strong. _Christ._ Even his twelve year old students have their love lives more together than he does, and he’s twenty-four! What kind of example is he setting for the younger generation?

“I’m fine! Never better!” Lance exclaims, finally snapping out of it. He accepts Mariel and Kat’s relieved hugs, squeezing them extra tight in apology. “Get to your seats now, scoot. We’re learning about wormholes today!”

They skip off hand-in-hand, joining the cacophony of scraping chairs and rollicking laughter. The familiar bedlam reminds Lance that work comes first, and that whatever it is he’s feeling with Keith, he can deal with it later. Until lunch period, at least.

In all his years spent in school, Lance has never been more thankful for the ear-splitting screech of the bell.

 

.

.

.

 

For the next few weeks, Keith visits his class almost everyday.

Whether Lance is in the middle of teaching morning lecture or instructing afternoon flight runs, the Blade commander will silently sneak in through the back, blending against the wall like a commonplace potted plant.

(Which is ridiculous because if Keith were actually a plant, he’d definitely be a bouquet of tiger lilies. Or a really impressive succulent display.)

Despite the reputation of his stupidly gorgeous face, Keith still has the uncanny ability to dissolve into his surroundings and evade everyone’s notice. For whatever reason though, Lance always manages to spot him, no matter how hard he purposely tries to ignore the older man, too.

“Don’t you have more important Blade-related space junk to do than to just _loiter_ in my classroom?” Lance grumbles one afternoon, not even looking up from the stack of papers he’s grading when Keith walks in. By now it’s second nature, registering the subtle yet instant charge in the air whenever Keith is nearby, about to wreak havoc on Lance’s weak, fragile heart.

It’s another lunch period, and practically every student in the Garrison is outside waging a snowball war, one that Lance would totally join in if he weren’t bogged down by lame, adult responsibilities. He’s popped a window open just an inch, letting the cool, pine-scented air waft through the room along with the distant echo of shouts and laughter.

“I like watching you teach,” Keith says without reservation, finding his usual perch against the table and holding out a cup of coffee. There’s that unspoken phrase again — _I like you, you, you._ Lance wills the blood away from his cheeks as he glares up, determined to hold eye contact.

Keith, disappointedly, isn’t intimidated in the slightest. “Your lessons are fun and you’re a natural with the kids,” he continues, every word armored with sincerity. “I like spending my free time with you guys, even if I’m only observing. But if I’m being a bother I’ll stop.”

As if every last one of Lance’s wishes was simply his command. Lord, why did he have to be so damn thoughtful and considerate all the time? And when did he learn to have such a flattering mouth? Keith’s always been supportive, but at this rate Lance will literally burn a hole through the ground with the heat of his flush, blazing across his skin like wildfire. 

 _Fine,_ two can play at this game. Lance heaves a dramatic sigh, taking the coffee and chocolate croissant from Keith’s hands.

“No, you’re okay. My students aren’t getting distracted by you and—” _I like having you around_ “—I like that you’re always spoiling me with food like a sugar daddy.”

Lance takes an innocent bite of his croissant as Keith chokes on his own coffee mid-sip, cheeks flaring a satisfying red. Steam practically pipes out of his ears, and a thrill travels through Lance at the sight, sweeter than the chocolate melting inside his mouth.

“—If that’s what you want.” He hears the tail-end of a mumble, Keith’s lips hidden behind the rim of the cup once more. 

“What?”

He sets his coffee down and clears his throat, adam’s apple jouncing as he rubs the back of his neck. Those dark eyes flicker to the window before meeting Lance’s, holding them steady. 

“I’d spoil you with anything,” Keith says, rough and quiet, “if that’s what you wanted.”

Instantly, they both turn red as summer tomatoes on a vine, ripe with embarrassment. Their gazes tear away from each other — Keith chugging his coffee like his life depends on it and Lance trying his best not to flail out of his seat and swan dive into the snow. They both struggle for composure, Keith finding his voice first.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“N-no, it’s fine. I led you into it.”

“I think Kolivan wants me for another meeting. I’ll stop distracting you.”

All Lance can manage is nod, listening to Keith’s footsteps recede from his classroom. As soon as those echoes disappear, Lance buries his face into the papers and releases a groan, not caring if he gets ink smudged all over his face.

This is normal, right? What they’re doing. The way Lance is responding. How happy he feels whenever Keith pays attention to the small details about him, like how he takes his coffee with a hint of caramel, or that one time he changed his brand of body lotion and Keith told him he liked the new scent on him. Lance wears it all the time now, because when those things happen, it’s okay to flirt back just a tad, right?

They haven’t spoken about where they stand in their friendship now that Keith’s come back, but aside from the occasional flustered exchange, they fell into their usual banter and habits. They’re still best friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Lance likes the daily routine they've eased into — the breakfasts they eat together every morning, the visits to his classroom that they’ve kept secret from everyone else. He likes how brazenly honest Keith is about the way he feels while still keeping Lance’s comfort in mind.

As for the giddy rush Lance feels so often around the Blade leader? He tells himself it’s because he’s simply missed Keith too much, and maybe that’s why sometimes his emotions are messier than they should be, more muddled and ambiguous than might be fair to Keith.

It’s nearly a month in when Remi Malik from Lance’s fighter pilot division finally catches sight of Keith slipping into the simulation room, and proceeds to spend the next half hour of class with eyes wide as fishbowls, gawking between the Keith and Lance, Lance and Keith, Keith and Lance…

Inevitably, the rumors take a life of their own from there. Along with the spying.

“Teacher Lance, is the Black Paladin your boyfriend?” Noah asks, three days later after class. Lance nearly topples out of his chair at the ambush, saving himself by clutching the table edge at the very last second.

“What?! No! Nononono _no!_ ” A laugh punches out of his chest, sounding entirely too hysterical, and he clears his throat in a desperate attempt to collect himself. “We’re just teammates! Friends! There’s _no_ canoodling between us!”

“He brings you food all the time though,” Remi says, completely ignoring Lance’s adamant denial. “Mama told me that’s love.”

“He also drives you to school.”

“And back!”

“And Mariel said she saw you guys at the movies together and you were—” Kat makes some obscene motions with her hands that would shock anyone into celibacy. 

_Christ. Kids these days._

“Okay, first of all, _I_ drive _him_. Second of all—!”

After a good thirty minutes convincing his students that he and Keith are in a _strictly_ professional, friendly, non-romantic relationship, Lance packs his bags and leaves his classroom, flustered and flushing from crown to toe.

So what if Keith and him have been coming to school together? So what if Keith brings him his favorite snacks and coffee during the day? He comes to eat dinner with Lance’s family cause Keith still can’t cook to save his life, and sure, they’ve gone to the movies together afterwards a few times. That doesn’t mean they’re _dating!_

As always, Keith is waiting for him outside, leaning against the tall iron spokes of the Garrison gate. Like Lance’s gossipy kids had so aptly pointed out, they’ve made a routine of going back home together too, Keith having grown accustomed to Lance’s ‘terrible’ driving. Lance is just about to wave to him when he sees something different surrounding Keith. Something loud and massive that curdles sour in his stomach, swelling bigger by the second. 

“Mister Black Paladin, will you sign my bra?!”

“Please look at the tattoo of your face I got on my abs!”

“Keith, I love you! Marry me!”

One of Keith’s many teenage fan clubs seems to have cornered him, their ecstatic screams traveling throughout the courtyard. People stop to stare at the commotion, laughing and shaking their heads at poor Keith trapped in the throng. As for Lance, he’s too caught up in his own feelings of irritation to notice Keith’s obvious discomfort at all the attention.

The shrill screeching grates against his ear, prickle his insides and claw at his heart. The rumors are that _he’s_ dating Keith, so why are those teenagers falling all over him?! Don’t they have any respect for personal space?! He should go rescue Keith from their seedy clutches, he should—

_Nope, not caring Lance! Just walk away!_

Keith can do whatever, it’s none of his business. Heck, he can even drive his own ass back to the farm today, or just not show up at all! It’s not like it’s Lance’s turn today to make dinner for the family or anything, fretting all of last night over what Keith would like to eat.

He starts power walking over to the parking lot, smiling briefly at all the students and faculty members who greet him. Why are there so many of them today? It’s like the universe is purposefully moving against him to slow his progress away from Keith. Rude.

“Lance, wait up!”

_Shit._

Keith jogs after him, and Lance speeds up his pace.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” The utter concern in Keith’s voice has Lance faltering, but he keeps it together out of spite for that gaggle of admirers who don’t know their boundaries. He won’t trip over his own feet just to fawn over his best friend. He has more dignity than that!

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine, peachy, perfect—”

“Oookay.” Keith eyes him dubiously, his long strides easily matching Lance’s. “Something’s definitely wrong.”

Lance power walks even faster, determined to shake him loose.

“Hey, come on Lance. Tell me what’s bothering you. Please?”

“Nothing’s bothering me! _Nothing!_ Okay? You can talk to whoever you want and sign autographs for whoever you want and kiss whoever you want and let those girls follow you around like a pack of— of—!”

“Lance. I’m gay,” Keith says, gently. Lance splutters, cheeks fuming red as a stove top.

“I— I know that!”

“Are you…” A slow smile tilts his lips, and it’s the most infuriatingly attractive thing. “Jealous?”

He sounds pleased. Hopeful.

“No?! No! Why would I be jealous? Pssshh! You think you’re such a hotshot and I don’t have admirers too? I have so many! A platoon, an army! I’m not—!”

They stop in front of Lance’s car. Lance wrestle his keys out, and then aggressively jams them against the lock. They drop to the cement, taunting him. He quickly swipes them up and tries again, his cheeks heating hotter than a volcano, his whole head about to melt from embarrassment.

Hands, lighter than his own, come to cover his trembling ones. They’re broader too, with slightly shorter but thickset fingers, and they cradle Lance’s perfectly as they gently pry the keys away. Palms rough with sword calluses brush against his knuckles, and when Lance steps back, he bumps into warm, solid chest, midnight hair tickling his cheek.

“You’re cute when you’re ‘not’ jealous,” Keith murmurs beside his ear, and a thrill runs down Lance’s spine at the low, rough heat of his words. Keith unlocks the car and then steps away, moving to the side of the passenger seat and jumping in, as if he didn’t just turn Lance into a steaming pile of jello.

“I’m always cute,” Lance mutters under his breath, belly flip-flopping and cheeks hot with blood. “I’m the cutest! And don’t you forget it!”

The ride is silent on the way back, but Lance’s heart feels like the bass of a stereo, overflowing the car with sound. Meanwhile, Keith actually falls asleep, elbow against the window and mouth pressed into his palm, his hair a wild mess out of his ponytail.

Whoever gave him the right to be so goddamn gorgeous, Lance sends a prayer above. His sharp cheekbones seem to bend the passing lights overhead to his will, shadowing the strong cut of his jawline and limning the straight set of his nose. His jacket is unzipped, and his black shirt stretches tight across his torso, as if highlighting every sculpted muscle by design.

“Eyes on the road, Lance.”

“Y-yes sir.”

Lance adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, embarrassed to be caught staring. Keith’s eyes remain closed, lashes tinged scarlet in the stop light they arrive at, pooling into the interior of the truck.

“I get jealous, too.”

The quiet admission comes sudden, startling Lance as much as it instantly suffuses his insides with woozy warmth. He turns his gaze back on Keith, who’s still resting against the window ledge with his eyes shut, appearing relaxed if it weren’t for the pink cresting his cheeks.

“You do?”

“Yeah, all the time. Anyone who looks at you.”

_Oh._

Lance clears his throat, his heart threatening to leap out and run off into the night. “Um, source and example?”

“Your coworker Yeun, Mariel’s dad, Kinkade—”

“Kinkade?!”

Someone honks behind them. The light switched to green ages ago. Lance jolts, quickly stepping on the gas, and feels laughter bubble inside his chest, a cocktail of nerves and happiness.

He can’t stop smiling for the rest of the drive home.

He thinks he sees Keith smiling, too.

.

.

.


	4. winter, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> malibu nights — lany  
> serendipity — park jimin, bts  
> the louvre — lorde

“I still miss him, you know,” Shiro said to him one night almost a year ago, when they were two drifting ships lost at sea, unable to reach the shore of sleep.

They had nearly crashed into each other in the darkness of the McClain family room; laughed quietly together as they made mugs of honey tea in the kitchen; then sat on the carpet near the fireplace, sharing animal crackers and odd dreams and tinkers of memory. Shiro had been staying over after a pit stop at the Garrison for a mission report, and was bound for a flight back to Japan later that same day. Curtis and their baby shiba pup would be waiting for him at the airport, welcoming him home.

Lance knew Shiro missed his husband terribly, but he understood — in the esoteric way that people who have loved and lost would — that Curtis wasn’t the one in this conversation.

“When we were together,” Shiro went on, tapping his lion cracker against the porcelain plate, “there were some nights where I’d lay in bed and just listen to him breathe beside me. I’d place my hand on top of his heart and count each beat. Only after that would I be able to fall asleep, because I knew that even if I died in that moment — whether because my muscles suddenly atrophied or, God forbid, a meteor struck us — he’d be the last thing I saw. The last thing I heard and felt. I loved him so much I thought I would die from the feeling.”

Against the firelight, Shiro’s smile was a half broken thing, but his gray eyes glistened wholly like a crest of sunrise sea. For a fleeting moment, Lance thought of her, and realized with a pang that he was already forgetting the notes of her face, the lilt of her smile. He asked, swallowing around the copper pennies at the base of his throat, “How do you move on from a love like that?”

Shiro touched his wedding band, and Lance remembered how brilliantly he had shined on the day of his wedding. How brilliantly he still shines, brighter than the fire itself.

“You don’t, not really. But you can choose to take the best parts of that love with you and give them to someone else. And for me, I thought, if Adam saw me sulking for the rest of my life, he’d definitely ignore me for the rest of eternity when we see each other again.”

At that, they shared a small laugh. The tea was finished between them, the first strokes of dawn brushing the horizon. On the kitchen table, Keith’s sunflowers reached for that light, stretching in the wake of a new day. He’ll be disappointed to have missed his brother, but Lance will tell him of Shiro’s belly-deep laugh and his penchant for animal crackers. How he now has a wallet empty of money yet full of puppy and husband pictures, because that’s all he’ll ever need.

“He’s happy for you up there, Shiro.” 

“I know.”

Shiro ruffled his hair, his eyes crinkled fond, and picked up their plates and cups.

“She’d be happy for you, too.” 

 

.

.

.

 

When Lance’s phone chimes in the middle of the night — odd since it’s winter break and he has nowhere to be — Lance doesn’t even read the message carefully. His dream clings to his mind like cracker dust, warm with firelight and the press of nostalgia. He wonders if it had been more of a memory than a dream as he squints at the message through the blur of sleep, vaguely interpreting the words: _I’m outside, don’t want to wake everyone._

Puzzled, he hauls himself out of the toasty confines of his bed and tucks his feet away into his threadbare slippers, grasping at the walls as he shuffles down the stairs to the front door. The world outside is still pitch black. He flicks on the porch light and pulls open the door, revealing a windswept Keith with Kosmo panting happily at his side.

“Hey.” Keith rubs the back of his neck. Snow clings to the threads of his hair, and there’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Sorry to wake you. The water pipes in the Garrison apartments broke, so my place is flooded. Could I— Woah!”

Lance hauls Keith into the house, shutting the door behind them to block the blast of cold wind. God, what time was it again? There’s not even a sliver of light out, and it’s balls off _freezing_. He quickly wraps himself around Keith, wiggling his arms underneath Keith’s coat to clutch at the back of his sweater, relishing the other’s body heat. His cheek finds perch on the crook of Keith’s collarbone, nose nuzzling that patch of bare skin, eyes already drifting close.

“Wow, um. You’re cuddly in the morning.” Keith folds his arms around Lance’s shoulders, duffle bag thumping quietly on the wooden floor. Kosmo whines around them, wanting to join in.

“It’s too early,” Lance grumbles in response, quickly fading back to unconscious. Against his chest, he feels the gentle thrum of laughter, something soft and chapped brushing across his temple.

“Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep,” Keith murmurs, fingers gently sweeping through Lance’s hair. Lance hums happily as Keith tucks him close, thumb pressing into the nape of his neck, lightly massaging the tension there. He muffles a mewl against Keith’s skin when the pressure is just right, his whole body shivering with the simple touch.

Keith smells so good, all hot and smoky like an open campfire. Lance wants to stay here forever.

“Don’t move away,” he mumbles, voice petulant like a demand. Again, he feels that low, rumbling laugh, warming him through.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

The endearment slips so naturally from Keith’s tongue, caressing Lance from head to toe. His stomach flips like a skillet of fluffy pancakes, jolting him from his sleepy haze, and he feels Keith tense ever so slightly as if expecting Lance to rebuke him.

But Lance only holds onto him tighter, cheeks heating steadily with the wild careen of his heart. “You’re the sweet one,” he mumbles, muffling the words into the stitches of Keith’s sweater. “Always sweet-talking me and bringing me sweets.”

The relief is heady as Keith relaxes against him, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

“Like a sugar daddy?” Keith asks, laughter soft and breathy at Lance’s answering groan. His calloused palms slide up to cradle his cheeks, and Lance can’t help but surrender fully to the gentle heat of his touch, even as his skin burns like whiskey. His head feels hot, woozy with the want to pull Keith back into bed with him and fall asleep.

“I’m sorry, still,” he hears Keith murmur, the pads of his thumbs tracing the skin just below his marks. “Let me know if I ever make you uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance whispers, breath catching at their closeness, the utter selflessness of Keith’s words. There’s an ache building inside his chest, bruising his lungs and bones. _You don’t make me uncomfortable,_ Lance wants to tell him, the words trembling on the tip of his tongue. _You could never._ “Keith, I—”

“Lance, who is it?”

The room floods with light. Someone clears their throat. Lance jumps away from Keith, the moment extinguished between them.

Veronica is standing by the light switch, one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched up at him. Mamá and Papá are coming down the stairs, luckily none the wiser to what just transpired. They stride across the living room, immediately pulling Keith into a hug.

“Keith! Are you all right?” Papá asks, clasping his shoulder. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Keith smiles sheepishly. “Sorry to bother you so early, Javier, Alicia.”

They’ve long been on a first name basis, ever since Mamá told Keith that he needn’t be such a Southern gentleman with the whole “Mister and Missus McClain” greeting. She felt it was rather obvious that he was already part of the family. Now, Keith quickly relays the situation to them, still ever respectful but also at ease in their presence. 

“You can stay as long as you want,” Mamá instantly agrees after hearing the story, lifting her hand to cradle Keith’s cheek. Keith has to lean down a little for her to reach, and Lance feels his heart swell at the sight, his tiny, storm-born mother doting on Keith like her own son.

“Keith can take my room,” says Veronica, her words stretching around a yawn. Keith picks up his duffel bag, shouldering it whilst shaking his head.

“No, it’s fine. I can take the couch.”

Mamá tuts. “Absolutely not. You’re our guest. I’m sure we can arrange one of the—”

“Keith can sleep with me!” Lance blurts out.

Everyone in the room goes silent. Somewhere in the world, a lone cricket chirps. Keith won’t stop staring at him, starry-eyed, and Veronica is sporting the most demonic, shit-eating grin on her face from behind him. Thank God Rachel will sleep through a literal tornado and isn’t here to tease him too, otherwise Lance would die from the mortification.

“I-In my room! On opposite ends of the bed. I mean,” he finishes quietly, wishing the ground would open and swallow him up. He can’t meet Keith’s gaze. He can’t stop imagining, all of a sudden, being spooned by Keith, with those strong arms wrapped around his waist, their legs tangled, tilting his head back and—

“I think that’s a _fantastic_ idea,” Veronica declares, clapping her palms together.

“I’ll bring you extra blankets,” offers Mamá, but Lance quickly shakes his head, determined not to live through this embarrassment a second longer.

“I got it! Please go back to sleep. _Please._ ”

Everyone retreats back to their rooms, and Lance leads Keith and Kosmo up to his, which takes up most of the third floor attic. It’s spacious and furnished with a full private bath, which Lance appreciates the most, plus plenty of carpet room for a giant space wolf to roll comfortably in. Kosmo sniffs around with familiar ease, finding his usual spot at the foot of Lance’s queen-sized bed.

Last time Keith had been here, it was summer, the ceiling fan turned up and the tall windows pushed open. Their limbs had been sticky with sweat from a full day of running through the sun-drenched fields, yet they were pressed close anyway — Lance sprawled on his back and Keith leaning over him on his side, head propped in his hand.

He didn’t know back then how Keith felt. Didn’t think twice about the way Keith had looked at him, drinking in the slip of his toned stomach beneath his tank top, the bead of sweat dripping down the curve of his throat.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Lance asks, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels. It’s an easy choice for Keith, pointing to the side that isn’t Lance-shaped and ruffled. 

Lance ducks back under as Keith changes in the bathroom, doing breathing exercises to try to calm his galloping heart. Kosmo wiggles over, always attune to Lance’s distress, and nuzzles Lance’s face in comfort.

“I’m okay boy,” Lance says, smiling to reassure him. His fingers find Kosmo’s favorite spot behind his ear, scratching fervently while listening to the swish of the space wolf’s tail.

“He’s not slobbering all over you again, is he?”

The bed dips as Keith settles his knee on top, and Lance makes the mistake of turning over to look at him.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he deadpans. Keith frowns at him in response.

“Getting into bed?”

“Where are your PJs?”

“These are my PJs.”

“Those.” Lance sits up and stabs his pointer finger in the air. “Are your day clothes.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “When I’m with the Blades we wear our uniforms at all times so I figured—”

“Nuh uh, my bed, my rules. You can’t wear those in here.”

“Fine.”

With that, Keith reaches for the back of his collar and pulls the sweater over his head, abs and biceps rippling in one stunning motion.

Miraculously, Lance doesn’t scream.

Almost.

_“Why?! Are you?! Stripping?!”_

Lance hurls the nearest pillow on his bed at Keith — who simply catches it single-handedly _the absolute scoundrel_ — then smacks his hands over his face to cover his chaste, lily-white eyes.

(He may have parted his fingers a mere second later to keep looking through the gaps, but whatever. God can smite him another day.)

Keith’s own hands are midway through loosening his belt buckle, chiseled V-line and happy trail disappearing beneath a pair of dark blue briefs. The pillow lies on the floor, punched-in form appearing to be a tiny, scandalized mouth, agape with awe. 

Keith has the audacity to look confused when he peeks at Lance through his bangs, one brow cocked.

“You told me to not wear my clothes in your bed?”

“That didn’t mean to strip _naked!_ ” Lance hisses hysterically, somehow retaining the good sense to keep his voice at an indoor volume. “Don’t you have like, sweats or a spare shirt or something?!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

Lance huffs, folding his arms in front of his chest and doing his best to look as exasperated and admonishing as possible. It’s a wretched effort considering how Keith is sculpted like the finest marble statue known to man, scars crisscrossing his sun-tanned skin and _those pecs, oh my God—_

Lance swallows thickly as Keith turns to retrieve his duffle bag, casting his eyes toward the ceiling so that he won’t get lost in the lines and divots of Keith’s back muscles, too. He hears rustling, followed by the sound of Keith’s belt clinking on the wooden floorboards. _Christ._ Is it just Lance, or did his room just become sweltering hot like a sauna? Maybe he should crack a window open and brave the glacial weather in order to cool off.

Just as he’s about to seriously throw open a latch, Lance’s gaze drops back down to see Keith walking over in a pair of low-hanging black sweats and a plain white muscle tank. He’s covered now at least, but the fabric really does nothing but accentuate, well. _Everything._

While Lance himself is all lean, toned muscles, Keith’s bulked heavier over the years, a combination of his Galra genes and the skirmishes the Blades still encounter in the far reaches of the galaxies. He’s not a total beef-cake like Kolivan, and maybe still not as broad as Shiro, but he’s definitely… considerable.

 _Is he doing this on purpose?_ Lance wonders, before flinging the thought straight across the ocean. No, he can’t be. Keith’s not _that_ smooth. He’s probably just having a muscle competition with Lance. Yeah, that’s it.

“Happy now?”

“S-sure.”

Keith presses his knee onto the bed once more, which promptly causes Lance’s heart rate to skyrocket yet. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly thought this through — how overwhelming it would be to see Keith climb into bed with him — and now his blood pressure is paying the price. It’s fine! All they’re doing is _sleeping_ after all. Sleeping! Nothing to it.

Lance nods to himself frantically before diving back under the covers, curling his legs into a ball as Keith settles in. There’s a solid hand’s width of space between them, but Keith’s presence beneath the sheets still feels like a brand to Lance, the skin of his back overheating with every passing second.

Is there a line down the middle of the bed that he can’t cross? Can he move? What if his foot ends up smacking Keith in the face? Then Keith will never want to sleep with him again! 

“You think too loud.” He hears Keith sigh, the bed creaking as he settles into a different position. Is Keith facing away from him now? Toward him? _Oh my God,_ he’ll never be able to sleep at this rate.

“Better than not thinking at all,” Lance mumbles. He tacks on a petty “mullet-brain” as an afterthought, because his brain is useless at this point for any form of whip-smart comeback.

Keith laughs softly, and — _oh_ — he’s definitely facing Lance, the warmth of his breath gently sifting through his hair.

“Mullet-brain. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

Silence falls between them. Lance squeezes his eyes shut and tries to count weblums. When that doesn’t work, he tries fluffing his pillow higher. And when _that_ doesn’t work, he slumps deeper into the mattress with a defeated sigh, hoping Keith will at least catch some shut-eye. 

“Relax, Lance,” Keith yawns. “I won’t make fun of you if you happen to roll over and drool on me like Kosmo does.”

“Hey! Who says I—!”

Lance whips around, only to lose all semblance of thought at Keith smiling gently at him, dark eyes hooded low and twinkling with amusement. His hair is spooled across the pillow, shadows dancing along the sharp cut of his jaw and the heavy build of his biceps. Lance swallows thickly, unable to tear his eyes away as Keith turns over briefly to shut off the lamplight.

“Night,” he murmurs, appearing utterly relaxed. Somehow, the calm he exudes soothes Lance — or maybe he’s simply too exhausted to fight reality any longer. Gradually, his eyes slip shut as well, body loosening. 

“…Night.”

They fall asleep, face to face.

In Lance’s dreams, they’re back in that summer afternoon, lying on the floor together. This time though, Keith is pressed above him, dark hair fanning over Lance as if to hide him away from the world. He’s lifting the hem of Lance’s tank top, fingertips trailing fire against his slick, flushed skin. Sunlight pours through the open window, yet Lance shivers in the heat, back arching to meet Keith’s touch, breath broken with want.

And then he wakes up.

Beyond the curtains, the sky is just beginning to bleed gold. He turns away from the burgeoning light, nuzzling his face into the chest he’s buried into. Beside his ear, a heart beats steady, like the rhythm of the tide. Lance counts each beat, _K, E, I—_

_Keith._

He feels so safe, so warm. _This is where I’m meant to be in the universe_ , Lance thinks fuzzily, right by Keith’s heart. He presses his lips to the cotton of Keith’s shirt, reveling in the rise and fall of his chest, the thump of his heartbeat.

“ _Lance,_ ” Keith sighs, a soft, husky breath. Their legs tangle together as Keith shifts in his sleep, pressing Lance into the warm, cozy mattress. Inevitably, Lance’s mind drifts lower.

Keith’s hand is splayed across the small of his back, dipped beneath Lance’s silk sleep shirt. Lower still, on the inside of his thigh, Keith is pressed hot and hard against him. Lance inhales a sharp breath at that revelation, biting his lip to stifle the moan that blooms in his throat. His eyes squeeze shut to the sudden, dizzying clench of his stomach. The dream from earlier washes over — Keith’s palm grazing his ribs, breath ghosting his lips — drowning out all other thought.

 _It’s a normal human reaction, it doesn’t mean anything!_ But even as he tries to convince himself, Lance feels like a firecracker set alight, sparking with heat and nerves. Images flood his mind, heady with wet skin and carnal kisses.

Keith ripping the seams of his sleep shirt. Keith trailing kisses down his thighs. At this rate, Lance will literally explode, and then Keith will be sorry, waking up to a Lance splat covering his chest.

The Blade commander stirs, and Lance quickly slackens his body, pretending to be asleep. Slowly, Keith wakes. Lance feels him stiffen when he realizes their intwined position, and tries his best to keep his breath steady as Keith stays still for what seems like eons, as if observing him. 

Then, almost too softly to hear, Keith whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

His voice is hoarse, torn. Naked with so much longing Lance’s heart throbs like a bruise. It takes everything inside him not to tremble against Keith, his body aching to soothe him, to press closer, to lay himself bare and—

Carefully, _painfully_ , Keith pulls away, the places where they separate cold.

The bed creaks. The floorboards whisper.

Lance hears the shower start.

He curls into himself and desperately wills his heart to slow down.

 

.

.

.

 

The holidays fly by, especially once everyone from all over the universe starts visiting.

Naturally, Lance’s entire family gathers back together by the eve of Christmas: Marco and abuelita return from their relief efforts in Cuba, while Luis, Lisa, and their kids rumble into the driveway on their hover SUV.

“Tío Keith!” Nadia and Sylvio shriek when they arrive, dashing toward the Blade leader and enveloping him into a hug. Keith lifts them up in both arms, the siblings giggling in delight, pressing matching kisses to his cheeks.

“Hey, where’s all that love for me?”

“Tío Lance!” they shout just as happily. Keith passes them over, and for a moment they’re a tangle of laughing limbs and sloppy kisses.

“Can we make Christmas cookies with Tío Lance and Tío Keith?” Nadia asks. “Mamá brought the cookie cutters with us!”

“I’m down,” Keith says, just as Lance teases, “as long as I do the baking and Keith sticks to decorating.”

“Sure.” Keith shrugs. “I’m more artistic than you anyway.”

“What?!”

They spend the rest of the afternoon making sugar cookies shaped like weblums and yelmores, Kosmo and Kaltenecker. Nadia gleefully sits on Keith’s lap as they color the cookies with icing sugar, and Sylvio and Lance race to see who can whisk the batter fastest. They both lose to Krolia when she and Kolivan make their visit, bringing over the equivalent of a wild space boar as a Christmas gift.

“Alicia, it’s been too long,” Krolia greets, sweeping Mamá McClain into a hug. It’s rare for the two women to see each other, though they’ve become close friends over the years nevertheless. At the counter, they chat over glasses of wine, while Lance and his sisters begin fixing up dinner.

Lance watches curiously from the corner of his eye when Krolia ushers Keith over during the conversation, whispering something into his ear that causes his whole face to sear an alarming shade of red. Mamá rubs his shoulder, laugh lines dancing across her cheeks, which only seems to make Keith even more embarrassed. When Krolia catches Lance peeking in, his curiosity shifts to confusion with the wink she sends him.

Or at least, Lance _thinks_ she tried to wink. Neither her nor her son seem able to do that action without blinking both their eyes charmingly.

His confusion escalates even more after dinner, once the Daibazaal leaders begin to take their leave. Krolia guides him to the living room away from the rest of the family, lifting him up into a bone crushing hug. Her hands settle onto his hips after she lowers him down, squeezing them firmly and nodding her head in approval.

“I have a gift for you,” she says, releasing him. Lance tilts his head in question as Krolia takes something out of her uniform pocket, handing it over. Keith walks up just as Lance accepts the gift, carefully unsealing the envelope.

It’s a photo.

A photo of a chubby baby, swaddled in red, with a little mullet flipping out from the nape of his neck.

Lance squeals, delighted, while Keith shouts in horror, “ _Mom!_ ”

“Thank you for taking care of my son, Lance.” Krolia laughs as Lance tackles her into another hug, before waving and stepping out into the snow, her eyes gleaming with a surprising amount of mischief. “Make sure he behaves.”

“I’m not five years old, Mom!” Keith shouts after her.

“You’ll always be a baby to me!”

Lance tucks Keith’s picture into one of the McClain family albums as soon as they’re back inside, and makes sure Mamá sees it so that Keith will think twice about destroying it. There’s a space right next to Lance’s own collage of baby photos, and together they spend the rest of the night going over the albums by the fireplace, Keith touching each picture of Lance as if it’s a priceless treasure.

“You were adorable,” he says, unguarded in his affection. Butterflies float around Lance’s stomach, warm and helpless. 

“Of course,” he huffs, pretending to brush the compliment off. “I was the cutest kid in all of Cuba! Still am.”

“That goes without saying,” Keith agrees all too easily, still entranced by the photos. Their shoulders bump together, and Keith glances up just to smile at him, eyes crinkled like the stars. Lance has to quickly duck his head down, feeling sweaty-palmed and short of breath, turning the page so that the attention shifts to six-year old Rachel with her head stuck in a watermelon. Don’t ask Lance how that happened.

A few days later, Shiro and Curtis fly in from their vacation in Cancun, planning to stay through the New Year’s in the remaining guest bedroom. Hunk, Shay, and Romelle join later that evening, followed by Coran and the space mice. They all manage to fit inside Rachel and Veronica’s rooms by some Tetris assembling miracle. Strangely, when Lance offered to have half of them take his room, they all declined, giggling suspiciously behind their hands.

By New Year’s Eve, the McClain family farm is packed to the brim. Pidge and Matt return from Olkari to join the party, while Acxa makes a surprise visit despite her duties at the Blade headquarters stationed on Daibazaal.

She kisses Veronica at the door, pressing her against the wall and lifting her up by her thighs, their bodies melting together. It’s scandalous, straight off the cover of a harlequin romance novel. Lance thinks Ronnie might’ve passed out halfway through from the ecstasy of it, before Rachel’s holler — _“get a room you raging lesbians!”_ — splits through the farm.

“And she calls _me_ disgusting,” Keith mutters beside him, kicking off his boots in the foyer. Lance only catches the tail-end of his grumble, distracted by his own shoes and the bags of groceries he’s trying to balance in his arms. They had gone ice skating together earlier in the morning, before making a stop at the grocery store to pick up more supplies for the New Year’s Eve celebration. When they arrived back home, they were just in time to see Acxa hop off her hover bike, running toward the porch.

Lance nudges Keith as they carry the bags of groceries to the kitchen, amused by the older man’s grouchy face.

“Don’t pout Keith, you’ll have someone to kiss soon, too.”

He meant the comment only as an innocent joke, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, Keith stiffens beside him. Lance realizes his mistake, the butterflies in his stomach erupting anew, but he tries to carry on as if nothing happened, pulling more food out of their bags to put away.

“Are you offering?”

The question catches Lance so off guard that he drops the apple he’s holding. Keith catches it without missing a beat, placing it down on the counter while keeping his gaze fixed on Lance. He takes a step forward. Lance takes a step back.

“Um, I…”

The kitchen counter hits the base of his spine, and Lance grips onto the ledge, his whole body set alight. Unconsciously, he bites his lower lip, heart leaping into his throat when he sees Keith’s eyes darken, tracking the movement. He leans down ever so slightly, placing one hand on top of Lance’s white-knuckled grip, and Lance can’t help but shiver into that simple touch.

“Lance,” Keith murmurs, lids cast low and so, so close. A torch burns in Lance’s belly, bright with anticipation, pulsing through his gut in rich, thick waves. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Keith’s breath fans over his mouth, warm with laughter.

“Relax, I’m just putting away the cereal.”

Lance snaps his eyes open, just as Keith slides a box of frosted flakes into the cupboard behind them. And then he walks away, tucking the grocery bags into the drawer nonchalantly and leaving Lance to fend for himself on his gelatin legs.

“K-K-Keith—!” Lance starts, cheeks flooding with embarrassment. But the older man is already making his way into the backyard, Papá McClain calling him over.

Ever since their first night together, it’s as if something’s shifted between them. They’re more comfortable than ever stealing lingering touches and soft hugs, more bold as they stumble through their flirtations. Lance doesn’t know what exactly changed, but he doesn’t think Keith ever realized he was awake that morning when he said those—those—

Lance can’t even bring himself to recall the words, his skin kindling into flames every time he thinks about them.

Keith’s been waking up ahead of him since then, leaving his space of the bed cold. Lance is grateful that Keith works out so early that the awkward morning conversations won’t occur, but a part of him — perhaps the larger part even — wishes they could wake up together.

To stay spooled inside Keith’s arms. To watch his lashes flutter against his cheeks as he dreams. To whisper, “good morning,” and feel Keith’s sleepy smile bloom with the sunrise.

But then they wouldn’t be friends anymore.

_Is that what you want, though? To stay friends forever?_

In the moments they touch, in the moments Keith makes him tremble and burn with only a look, Lance finds himself yearning for them more and more.

He ends up traveling through the rest of the afternoon and evening in a daze, getting pulled along by Hunk and Pidge who both call him out for acting strange. His legs still feel like jello, his heart a clenching fist whenever he catches sight of Keith on the other side of the room.

Eventually, the party starts in full swing, and it’s enough to drag Lance out of his thoughts. Several glasses of sangria later, he’s sufficiently drunk enough that his mind is drenched with a pleasant buzz, his limbs loose as he skips through the crowd, chatting and laughing with everyone else. He’s plenty distracted until he sees Keith again, this time on the couch, talking with Romelle.

He almost hates it, the way his heart instantly tugs toward him.

“Hey,” Lance slurs as he walks over, trying not to fall. Romelle quickly excuses herself, darting away faster than lightning spark.

Keith waves her off, before smiling up at Lance, bright and handsome.

“Hey— Woah!”

His arms wrap around Lance’s waist as he loses his balance, tumbling onto Keith’s lap.

“Look,” Lance giggles, smiling broad and toothy at Keith’s amused (and slightly concerned) face above him. “I’ve fallen for you.”

Blood instantly flushes Keith’s face, his cheeks and ears fusing an adorable shade of pink. He looks to the side and clears his throat, before gently maneuvering Lance to sit up. Lance whines, until Keith offers his shoulder to rest on, finding comfort in it.

“How much did you drink?” Keith asks, voice low and hoarse. Lance’s head slips onto his chest, and the hold Keith has around his waist tightens, pulling him closer. Lance notes with a giggle that even his neck is flushed, his body a furnace, thrumming with comforting heat.

“Just some sangria,” he answers. Though Veronica had made it, so Lance should’ve known it was going to have more alcohol than usual.

Keith gently brushes aside his sweaty bangs. “You’re so drunk,” he says, sounding fond.

“M’not.” Lance shakes his head vehemently, and Keith laughs, easing their bodies against the couch.

“That’s what a drunk person like you would say.”

The rest of the night passes by in a blur. Lance remains curled up on top of Keith’s chest, pleased and cozy as a cat, listening to Keith’s warm voice flow through his conversation with Lisa and Luis, the television a hum in the background. He thinks Shiro brings them a throw quilt at some point, draping it over them. Every time he drifts off, the sound of laughter lulls him back, his family and friends swirling around this little pocket of the universe. 

“Lance, you’re glowing,” Keith says, fingertips brushing Lance’s warm cheek.

“Mmm, must be the sangria.”

“No, your marks.” Keith thumbs the curve of his mark gently, causing Lance to shiver and curl into him, nuzzling his hand. At the corner of his vision, Lance can see the marks’ turquoise light reflected in Keith’s palm. He tilts his eyes up just as Keith smiles.

“Like a firefly,” he says, soft with wonder. Lance swallows, ducking his head back down, feeling a strange ache pulse down to his fingertips.

“Good or bad?”

“Perfect. You’re perfect.”

There’s no hesitance in Keith’s voice. No ounce of doubt or deception. Lance couldn’t be, though; he’s flushed muddy red after all, his curls sticky with sweat and his concealer smudged, the pimple on his chin showing up. 

But Keith made Lance want to believe he was perfect. Keith made him _feel_ perfect, whenever they’re together. In every way.

“I guess I’m just really happy.”

At his shy, honest answer, Keith’s smile blooms full, and it’s the most beautiful thing Lance has ever seen. He giggles as Keith pulls him onto his lap, laughter melting into a sigh when he’s ensconced completely inside Keith’s warmth, temple against heartbeat.

On the TV, the countdown begins. The room seems to reverberate as they all count together. Everyone who Lance loves. Everyone who loves him back.

_3, 2, 1—_

_T, H—_

“Happy New Year,” Keith murmurs into his hair, as the ball drops and the fireworks burst, everyone around them erupting into cheers. Their fingers lace together beneath the blanket. Lance remembers not wanting to let go as he drifted off to sleep.

 

.

.

.


	5. new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at my weakest — james arthur  
> caroline — noah gunderson  
> surprise yourself — jack garratt

 

He wakes to the smell of pancakes and smoke, and promptly rolls over to bury his face into one of the pillows with a groan.

 _Where’s Keith?_ Lance wonders, still too ensconced in the comfort of sleep to realize how needy he sounds. His hand sifts through the rumpled covers, finding the warm imprint of Keith beside him.

Curling his fingers around the empty sheets, Lance breathes in deep, Keith’s familiar scent soothing him. He can’t remember what happened last night, but he must’ve been carried to bed. There’s the vague memory of being lifted up by his knees and back into strong arms before drifting off, warm, chapped lips brushing against his forehead.

The _scritch-scratch_ of paws running across the floorboards stirs him back awake, and he lifts his head just in time to see Kosmo bounding into the room. Lance grins, pushing himself onto his elbows to greet the excited space wolf.

“Mornin’ sweet boy, where’s your papa?”

Kosmo wiggles onto Keith’s side of the bed, and Lance peppers his adorable face with kisses and nuzzles behind the ear. Aside from Kosmo’s shampooed fur — he’s a very good boy whenever Nadia wants to give him a bath — there’s that suspicious tang of smoke in the air that keeps stinging Lance’s nose. His suspicion only grows when a loud clatter breaks the peaceful morning, followed by what sounds like Veronica’s infamous scolding. Lance winces and Kosmo whines in concern, before the former dissolves into a fit of giggles, trying to imagine what could possibly be happening down there.

“Come on, let’s go investigate. Maybe your papa’s in trouble.”

Kosmo yips happily, scampering out of the room first while Lance takes his time to shuffle into his slippers and at least brush his teeth.

When he walks downstairs, he finds Veronica yelling at Keith and Shiro in the kitchen, while Curtis looks on from the side, near tears from laughing. Hunk is trying to fan the smoke away from the fire alarm, and Sylvio and Nadia are already seated at the table, eagerly awaiting their breakfast with plates piled high with strawberries and bowls of whipped cream.

“Lance!”

Keith sees him on the staircase first, eyes wide with guilt and smile sheepish. There’s a slight edge of panic to his voice. He’s wearing one of Mamá’s floral aprons, desecrated with soot and lumps of batter, and his hair’s been wrestled into another pineapple stalk, most likely Nadia’s handiwork.

Lance feels a surge of affection so strong he has to grip the banister of the staircase to steady himself. 

“Please don’t burn our house down,” he says, shuffling over to see the damage. 

“I just mixed the batter. He did all the cooking,” Shiro pipes up, whipping the spatula in his hand behind him. Keith utters in indignant growl.

“You did at least half of them, Shiro!”

Lance starts working on the dirty bowls and whisks stacked high in the kitchen sink, laughing as Keith and Shiro continue pushing the blame onto each other. When all the pancakes are done, they gather at the breakfast table, finding a seat or pulling up a stray chair.

Across from Lance, Shiro sets a stack of pancakes in front of Curtis and leans down for a kiss. The touch lingers, a soft, intimate moment that Lance feels flustered for catching. They move so naturally together, completely in sync with each other’s movements and desires. Lance finds himself wishing he could have that with someone, too. Someone like—

“Here.”

Keith pushes over a plate of pancakes as he sits down next to Lance, carefully arranged to hide all the burnt bits. The edges are charred, but they’re fluffy and golden for the most part. It’s nothing a drizzle of maple syrup can’t fix.

Lance digs in, swallowing a large forkful dripping with strawberry jam and syrup. “Mmph, these are good. Thanks babe.”

He shovels another pancake chunk into his mouth, not realizing how silent the whole room just became. He pauses mid-chew, staring at everyone.

“Mwhat?”

“Dang Lance, Keith must’ve done really good on those pancakes,” Hunk speaks first, eyebrows waggling. “You’ve never called me _babe_ after eating mine.”

Lance blinks. Then blinks again before his own words settle in.

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

“I— It was—” Lance stutters, but it’s useless. He can feel his marks twinkling on the apples of his cheeks, like they have a mind of their own, running off with his emotions.

“Tío Lance, you’re glowing like a Christmas tree!”

“Woah, Lance, are you radioactive?”

“I wanna be radioactive, too!”

He turns to the side and pouts helplessly at Keith, who’s smiling at Lance like he plucked the moon for him.

“I’m being bullied,” he whines, hoping Keith will ignore and forget his slip of tongue. Hoping Keith won’t.

“No you’re not. Eat up.” Keith cuts the stack of pancakes and holds a forkful out. “I promised Sylvie and Nads we’d take them sledding today.”

“I’m mortally wounded. I can’t eat.”

“I’ll feed you.”

“N-nevermind, I can eat!”

Breakfast takes most of the morning, with everyone gradually waking up and joining in the steady flow of food and conversation. The commotion is enough to distract Lance from the butterflies rioting in his stomach, now ever present whenever Keith’s by his side. Still, Lance has never felt more at peace with his loved ones, surrounding him with laughter and warmth.

Underneath the table, Keith’s ankle brushes against his, and he tries not to snort on a mouthful of pancakes as they hook together, playing a game of tug-of-war. Keith’s smile is all teeth and mischief, dark eyes twinkling in the sunlight, and Lance feels that surge of affection once more, pushing against the apex of his heart.

He feels so full, like a hot air balloon about to float out of the atmosphere. He wants to run. He wants to hide in Keith’s shoulder. He wants to win this stupid game of footsies and press that beautiful smile to his lips.

“What are you, _twelve_?” he hisses, hoping some of the heat in his face will transfer to his words. Before he can brace himself, Keith reaches down and tugs his chair closer with one sharp pull, causing Lance to nearly fall into his lap from the sudden motion. His hand instinctively grips onto Keith’s bicep for support as the Blade leader leans over.

“Still older than you,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot against Lance’s ear, sparks dancing down his spine. 

Lance bites his bottom lip, an infuriating mixture of aroused and amused. Keith leans back, eyes crinkled warmly, and it looks like he’s having a hard time holding back his laugh, too. They press into each other, ankles still hooked and laughter quiet, none the wiser to the exasperated eye rolls around them.

For the rest of the meal, they don’t let each other go. 

 

.

.

.

 

By mid-morning, everyone runs outside, barreling into the snow. Keith tugs on his fingerless gloves — _classic Keith_ — and all the early morning sweetness melts away as they start an all-out snowball war, separating into two teams.

Lance obviously sets his target on Keith, the old rivalry he once declared flaring competitively. They chase each other across the field, dodging snowballs soaring left and right.

Eventually, Keith manages to tackle him down on a stretch of hill, wrapping a hand around Lance’s wrist to stop him from chucking a snowball straight into his face. They tussle for a solid minute before Lance loses his breath, chest heaving as he glares up at Keith and his stupid Galran strength. Keith smirks, satisfied, and moves to get up.

“Hey, wait.”

Lance tugs Keith back down by the lapel of his jacket, their bodies slotting together like a puzzle. The ground is freezing beneath Lance’s back, but every point where he and Keith connect burns so sweetly. Keith slackens against him, gaze turning molten, half-lidded, and Lance licks his lips unconsciously, heat throbbing rich in his gut.

 _Hurry_ , he thinks, toes curling inside his boots from the pleasure of having the half-Galran right where he wants him.

Just then, a giant snowball cracks over Keith’s head, the powder showering around them, soft and glittering in the sunlight. Hunk whoops triumphantly from somewhere down the hill before running off, most likely fearing Keith’s wrath. Lance bursts out laughing, his grip on Keith’s jacket turning lax.

“Gotcha!” he sing songs, immensely pleased that his plan worked. The look of betrayal on Keith’s face almost makes him feel bad, but that feeling quickly disappears when Keith starts shoveling snow up his jacket, the sudden cold making Lance squeal.

“ _Minx,_ ” Keith growls into his ear, teeth grazing the shell. Lance aches hotly at the touch, even as his stomach cramps from laughter.

“I’m sorry, sorry! Have mercy!”

They end up rolling down the hill in a tangled mess like idiots, becoming a giant snowball of their own.

The war continues well into noon, with forts and side adventures being formed throughout the acres of farmland. Lance crawls on hands and knees back to the house, utterly drained from all the fun he had. He waves weakly when he sees Shiro already spread-eagled on the steps of the porch.

Together, they sit and watch the others in companionable silence, occasionally pointing out something funny they notice. Lance watches Keith in the distance by the juniberry fields, carrying Sylvio on his shoulders, his smile even more brilliant than the snow. Lance’s heart trips over a beat.

“Shiro, how did you know you loved him?” he asks, the question slipping out of him suddenly. Shiro doesn’t need to ask who Lance is talking about, his eyes stuck on Curtis who’s getting buried beneath a mountain of powder by Coran and Romelle, morphing into a literal snowman.

“It’s kind of a dumb story,” Shiro says, laughter a breathless rasp. He must still be tired from his battle with Keith, pelting each other with soccer-size snowballs after Keith had called him a senile old man. “I realized I loved him when I gave him food poisoning.”

“You what?!” Lance almost drops the hot cocoa Marco hands him, securing his grip before passing it to Shiro. Shiro accepts the cup gratefully, blowing on the hot liquid as his gaze turns distant.

“When Adam and I were together, I never got to cook for him. That’s one of the things I regret. He was always so stubborn and determined to take care of me, especially after my illness worsened. So with Curtis, I wanted us to be different.”

“I— Well. I can’t cook. I probably should’ve known that when I set fire to spaghetti in Hunk’s kitchen that one time. Yeah, you remember that don’t you?” Shiro laughs along when Lance snorts into his cocoa at the memory — _how could he set fire to pasta water, Lance?!_ Hunk howls in his head. “Anyway, I tried to cook dinner one night and Curtis came home to a firetruck parked outside our apartment and mashed potato stuck to the ceiling. By the time the firemen gave the all clear, the food — if I could even call what I made food — had gone cold. But Curtis ate all of it anyway because he said I worked hard to make it.”

“He threw up for the rest of the night, and not once did he blame me for basically poisoning him half to death. All he did was smile and tell me how lucky he was to have me. The whole time he was puking his guts out, he still managed to make me laugh. That’s when I realized, this is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“He’s my home, wherever he is,” Shiro finishes, his smile soft with an emotion that echoes through Lance’s own chest. “He’s never made me feel anything but loved, even when we argue, even when we fight. I’m a hundred percent comfortable, and I feel safe.”

_That’s how Keith makes me feel._

The thought is instantaneous, warm and fierce and sure. It’s not like anything Lance has ever felt before. Bright, heady heat floods through him, all the way to his fingertips, and his heart pounds against his ribs, alight with the realization.

“Are you in love with someone, Lance?” Shiro asks. Lance shies away from the knowing lilt to his voice, not sure why he’s panicking.

“Who, _me_? Haha, no way Jose, nada, nope!”

But the words taste wrong in his mouth, and all he can think of is Keith’s smile. Keith’s thumb brushing his cheek. Keith’s scent, tangled in their sheets.

_He’s my home, wherever he is._

_He’s never made me feel anything but loved._

“You and Keith have been sharing a room together, right?”

“I-I mean yeah, but—” Lance startles from the left-field question, brain short-circuiting.

“They’re sleeping together,” Rachel chirps as she skips by, shrugging on her coat to join the snowball fight. Lance stutters after her.

“Rachel, that’s—!”

“Oh, I didn’t know you and Keith had made so much progress. Congrats!” Shiro claps his shoulder before running off to save his husband, throwing a shout behind his back, “Make sure to use protection!”

Lance, confused and overwhelmed by what just happened, face-plants into the snow.

 

.

.

.

 

“Wait, you two _aren’t_ dating?”

Veronica’s incredulous shriek could shatter the stratosphere. It certainly cracks Lance’s eardrum and his glass of iced tea, along with every single window inside the cozy diner. Heads swivel to peer over the edge of beige leather booths, and all Lance wants to do is blend into the upholstery of his own, hiding from those prying eyes.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Rachel quips, shoveling more curly fries into the blackhole of her mouth. Veronica passes over a napkin without looking, keeping her icy stare pinned on Lance, who’s in the midst of trying to become invisible or teleport to the South of France.

“You’re telling me that you two are cuddling under our roof, sleeping in the same bed, baking cookies together like a pair of old married grandpas, and you’re _not_ dating?!”

Lance tucks his nose behind his turtleneck, not sure if he’s being cooked alive by the heat of Veronica’s disgust or the flush peppering his skin. _Well, when she puts it like that…_ “No?”

Veronica’s fork clinks threateningly against her plate. “Did none of what I just said sink in?”

“It did, Ronnie! I heard you loud and clear.”

“I can’t believe we’re related.”

“Hey!” 

“He even confessed to you, didn’t he?” At Lance’s alarmed look, Veronica waves the fork around dismissively. “Heard about it from Acxa. Ezor, Zethrid, and the rest of the Blade crew won’t stop teasing him about it.”

Lance winces, hoping it’s not the kind of teasing that rubs a rejection in someone’s face.

“He— He said he’s fine with us being friends,” he mumbles, weakly. And they were fine. Perfect, even. These past few weeks after the new year have been the happiest Lance has ever experienced in years, getting to spend everyday with his best friend and surrounded by his family members.

Waking up with Keith has become the best part of his day, from the intimacy of their morning whispers to the playfulness of their bumping hips as they brush their teeth together. He wouldn’t trade those moments for anything in the universe.

“Aren’t you taking advantage of him, though?”

The words may as well have been a mountain boulder, smashing right over the delicate vase of Lance’s head. “Ronnie!” He hears Rachel hiss, coming back for air from her milkshake straw. She darts her eyes at Lance, a strangely serious glint to her eyes. 

“Look, Lance, you’re not exactly acting—” Veronica drops her fork, wagging her fingers into quotation marks “— _friendly_ with him. You guys basically go on dates every week, hug each other constantly like you’re attached at the hip, and everyone thought you two kissed on New Year’s Eve. For God’s sakes, you called him ‘babe’ in front of half the family!”

“Everyone thought we kissed?”

Lance’s brain latches onto the image. Him, Keith, kissing. Wow.

“See, there you go again, dreaming about kissing him!”

“A-Am not!”

“Fooling no one but yourself, _hermanito_ ,” Veronica sing-songs, taking her wallet out of her bag and shrugging gracefully into her coat. “You’re basically leading him on.”

“But, I—”

“Think about it. Anyway, I’ll go grab this check. Have to run to my _date_ with my _girlfriend_ Acxa. Love you, bye!”

Lance gets the distinct impression that his older sister is rubbing her perfectly happy and flourishing relationship in his face, which bothers him. A lot. More than he’d ever admit out loud.

“She has a point you know,” pipes Rachel, taking one last sip of her milkshake. Lance chucks a fry at her, slumping down into the booth.

He drives home alone — Rachel needed to check up on her patients at the veterinary clinic, and Lance needed the silence. By the time he pushes in through the front gate, his mind is a muddled mess, thoughts all clumped together and heart beating sore. He wonders if he should’ve driven for longer; taken some empty roads just to roam aimlessly for a while and clear his head. Something uncomfortable writhes in the pit of his stomach, gnawing viciously on his skin, and he doesn’t want to focus on it. He just wants to forget what his sisters said. 

When he opens the door to his bedroom, Keith is seated at the desk, tapping away on a tablet beneath the glossy lamplight. His hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and there are glasses perched across the bridge of his nose. He looks so comfortable in his sweats and t-shirt, like he’s meant to be there every night, waiting for Lance to come home. 

_Aren’t you taking advantage of him?_

“Hey,” Lance says, quiet.

“Hey.” Keith looks up and leans back in his chair, mouth curved soft as he takes his glasses off. “How was dinner with your sisters?”

Lance shuffles over, and Keith reads his mood almost instantly, wrapping an arm around Lance’s hips to hug him close. He sets his tablet down, next to a plain black notebook bound shut with a strand of red. Lance wonders what Keith keeps inside. _A question for another day, I guess._

“Awful, they’re both heathens. All they do is torture me.”

“Want me to talk to them?”

“And have you come to my aid like a knight in shining armor? They’ll only tease me more.”

“Oh, so I was a part of the conversation?”

Lance jerks his chin away with a pout. “…Maybe so.”

Keith releases a breathy laugh, the tip of his nose pressed just above Lance’s belly button. Gradually, in the cradle of his arms, Lance feels some of the tenseness in his body ease away, muscles loosening as if he’s sinking into a warm bath. He didn’t even realize how stiff he was, not until Keith’s soothing presence enveloped him.

“Really, are you okay?” Keith shifts his head to gaze up at him, thumb tracing soothing circles against his hipbone. “Anything I can do to help?”

_You already do more than enough for me._

Lance threads his fingers through those inky strands of hair, soft with his conditioner that Keith now shares with him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry. I—” He pauses, an idea forming in his head. Something that he knows always helps him relax. “Wanna go on a drive with me? There’s a place I’d like to show you.”

Keith stares at him for a moment longer, before letting the subject go, leaning back to consider him.

“Let’s see…” He furrows his brows, as if deep in thought. “Do I wanna keep my dinner?”

Lance punches him lightly in the shoulder, lips already slanting up. “Don’t be an ass.”

Keith sinks into their hug once more, resting his head against Lance’s stomach before pulling away. “Let me go grab my jacket.”

While Keith gets ready, Lance bundles up a throw quilt and some pillows from his room to bring along, plus a thermos in the kitchen for mugs of hot cocoa. Outside, the clouds have cleared, leaving a faultless canvas of dark blue sky. The snow crunches beneath their boots as they jog lightly to Bessie, tucking the items into the back of the truck.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees something familiar and red sitting out in the field. Nostalgia flows through him at the sight of it, and he remembers a time when he surfed on the wing of the ship, starting an adventure with his friends beyond anything he could ever imagine.

It’s a new year. He wants to do something wild. Something unexpected. Something _Lance_.

“Hey Keith, can we take your hover bike instead?”

The question seems to startle Keith, his eyes blowing wide from the other side of the truck. “Yeah, sure.” The thought dawns on him then, too. “You still gonna drive?”

“If you trust me.”

Keith smiles as if Lance has plucked every star in the galaxy for him. He fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them over without hesitation. Lance grips them in his hands, nerves set alight as they walk over to the hover bike. 

Aside from demonstrating simulation runs, he hasn’t flown anything in over two years. At first it was because the thought of flying terrified him too much, reminded him of too many moments he wanted to forget. There was no purpose for him to pilot anymore, no need to protect the universe. He held on to that excuse for as long as he could — even when the Lions left, even as the ache built inside him until it was almost too much to bear.

But he’s different now. Stronger. Happier. His wounds and scars healed from time, from acceptance, from moving on. And below and above it all, need or no need, he misses flying. He misses the thing he has always loved.

Keith’s hovercraft is a familiar vintage model, the controls simple and streamlined and easily understandable. Still, Lance feels a surge of nerves crash over him as his palms grip the handles, adjusting in the seat while Keith settles in behind him. Strong biceps fit around Lance’s waist, accompanied by Keith’s warmth and smoky scent. Lance leans into it, his back pillowed by Keith’s chest, and he breathes in deep to steady himself. Keith rests his chin on the crook of his shoulder, mouth a warm press below his ear. 

“I trust you,” he says, and that’s all Lance needs to hear to feel brave.

The hovercraft vibrates in his hands as he starts the engine, the kickback startling yet exhilarating. Adrenaline crashes through Lance’s veins, singing with his blood. The bike begins to ascend, and maybe it’s nerves, or maybe it’s sheer excitement, but with a subconscious flex of his wrist, they shoot into the sky, stars and moonlight blurring past them.

Lance remembers now why he was so addicted to this. Remembers why, at one point in his life, there was nothing more on Earth he wanted to do than to become a pilot. Flight is the most freeing experience in the universe. The wind roars past his ears. The sky fills his lungs. Everything tastes bright and clear like the stars, the universe encompassing him in its light.

 _This is an undeniable part of me. This is something I’m always meant to do._ Not for the universe, but for himself. Tears prickle his eyes as they soar above tree lines and weave through canyons and hills, that feeling of being right — of being whole — overwhelming his heart. Keith holds him steady the entire time, laughing with him, yelling with him. Still his flight partner from all those years before. Still the other half of his wings.

Their laughter echoes through the night, and with every twist, turn, and trick, Lance regains his confidence again. “Best pilot ever,” Keith tells him when they slow to a cruise, wisps of clouds drifting past them, kissing their hair. It’s cold, way up here, but Lance feels warm and giddy with Keith’s praise, the echo of a memory they share.

Eventually, they land in an open field, miles and miles of snow-covered earth glistening around them. Up above the milky way glitters more brilliantly than ever, a blazing brush stroke of silver. Lance eases the hover bike to a stop, shifting it into park, and turns around to see Keith’s reaction. 

“Wow.”

Keith is as speechless and awed as Lance had hoped. He beams, nodding excitedly. 

“This is my secret spot. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. It’s amazing.” Keith maps the sky from one horizon to the next, his figure limned silver beneath the moonlight, his eyes reflecting the stars above. He is so brilliant that Lance has to look away, staring at the horizon, too. “There’s really nowhere else that beats seeing the stars from Earth, huh.”

“Right? All the places we’ve traveled to, and yet I wouldn’t trade this place for anywhere else in the universe.”

Lance tilts his head to look at Keith once more, only to find the Blade commander already gazing back at him, smile nothing short of enamored. The flush on Lance’s cheeks is instantaneous. He clears his throat and pulls away from the circle of Keith’s loose arms, hopping off his seat to grab the blankets and pillows he packed into the trunk. He tries not to toss them too hard at Keith to arrange around the hover bike, distracting himself by preparing two cups of hot cocoa from the thermos.

Keith shakes the throw quilt out, lifting it up for for Lance to scoot underneath when he climbs back up. Lance settles in, handing one of the mugs of cocoa to Keith.

“I come here whenever I need space to think or be alone,” he says, taking a sip of the sweet, chocolatey liquid. It’s easier to be vulnerable with something in his hands, anxiousness concentrated on the drum of his fingers against the cup. “It always helps clear my head and I feel calmer afterwards. I needed to come here tonight, and to have the chance to fly again, so thank you for coming with me.”

Keith gifts him a smile in return. “Thank you for sharing your place with me.”

They talk into the night — their voices soft despite the quiet surrounding them, their laughter low and intimate, shared only for each other. The mugs of hot cocoa turn lukewarm in their hands, but Keith is a furnace of his own, burning faithfully despite the cold. Lance leans in as close as he can, settling his legs over Keith’s lap, seeking that warmth as he always does. Beneath the blanket, Keith gently holds his calves, massaging the knots from his muscles. 

It’s always so comfortable and easy when he’s with Keith. Even when they argue about nonsensical things, even when they fight about something more serious. Their arguments always ease into light, comfortable banter, and there’s been no issue they couldn’t resolve, no obstacle they couldn’t pass together. There’s nothing Lance ever needs to hide from him, because Keith always makes him feel safe and secure in himself, in their relationship.

_So why did I feel so wrong?_

“I got a notice from my apartment today,” Keith brings up, pulling Lance out of his thoughts. “All the water damage’s been fixed, so I can move back tomorrow.”

Keith’s words settle in, and Lance feels a rush of sadness and disappointment.

“Don’t go!” he cries, so sudden and immediate that they’re both taken aback for a moment, staring at each other. Lance backpedals, leaning away when he realizes he physically surged forward, blood hot in his cheeks. “I— I mean. Y-you can stay. If you want.”

That lovely, crooked smile, making his heart skip. “Even though I ‘hog’ your bed?”

Lance sniffs, trying to appear cool and nonchalant. “I got used to your terrible sleeping habits.”

“ _My_ sleeping habits?” Keith’s laugh warms Lance through. “Who stays up until three in the morning scrolling through Spacegram?”

“ _You_ drool on my shirt!”

“ _You_ snore like— like a kitten!”

Lance blinks, thrown for a loop. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

Keith turns his face away, and Lance notices with a spark of delight that the tips of his ears are endearingly red. “…No. It’s cute. Makes it hard for me to wake you up.”

“Do you make it a habit to wake up early in the mornings just to stare at me, Keith Kogane?”

“That makes it sound like I’m a creep.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. But don’t go doing that to everyone you share a bed with!” Lance mock scolds, heart racing. Keith snorts.

“As if there could be anyone else but you.”

He says it so candidly, like that truth is engraved inside him. _There’s only you. There’s never been anyone else._ It reminds Lance once more of the conversation with his sisters, the one he’s been hoping to forget all night but knew deep down he couldn’t, not when Keith matters so much to him.

The guilt festers fresh, pushing against his throat.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Keith’s fond gaze shifts to one of bewilderment, as if Lance’s question never once crossed his mind. It soothes the riot in Lance’s heart ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Because… You told me you love me, and I— I rejected you.” The memory of what happened sinks between them, sun drenched and lonely and bittersweet. Lance remembers both hurt and happiness, because Keith had told him he _loved_ him, and all Lance did was wound him in return.

“Yet here I am, spending everyday with you, asking you to be with me, to only look at me, without—” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. His feelings are a tangle, confused and painful, desperate to unwind. “Maybe… Maybe it would be better if we spent less time together.”

As soon as those words fall out of his mouth, he knows they’re wrong. They cut his throat, pierce and bleed his heart. His body objects at the mere thought of separating from Keith, but if he is taking advantage of Keith’s feelings, if he’s causing more harm than good to the person he cares about most in the world, he’d bleed himself dry to change that. 

“Is that what you really want?”

Gently, Keith tilts Lance’s chin up. Lance feels his chest fracture at the look in Keith’s eyes, starless with pain. _No, I didn’t want to hurt you more. I never want to see you hurt because of me._

“Lance,” Keith says, a broken, hoarse whisper. “I would rather you reject me, hate me, torture me a thousand ways, than be apart from you.”

His words knock the breath from Lance’s chest.

“H-How can you say that? Keith—”

“Because I love you. I still do.”

A sob tears at his throat, and he has to pull away. Keith gives him the space, always putting him first, always taking care of him. It’s too much. Keith loves him too much — too steady, too patient, without needing anything back, because Lance’s comfort and happiness are all that matter to him.

_But how is that fair? I want to give you the same._

He thinks of Shiro and his love for Adam, something so vital and all-consuming and life-altering. He thinks of that love Shiro now shares with Curtis — different, yet similar and passionate in all the important ways.

Lance never did have any of that love with Allura. Not quite, not in the time they were given. He still loves her — he always will — but he misses her now more as a friend than anything else, because that’s what they had been first and foremost. Friends. He didn’t want to admit it then, that night by the fire with Shiro. That when Shiro spoke of his love with Adam, it touched Lance because he felt for his former leader, not because he could relate to it.

When he’d been together with Allura, there wasn’t a moment in their relationship that wasn’t tainted by the war. By the memory of a man who had broken her heart. But they might have grown to love each other, fully and unconditionally, had the universe given them a chance.

Then Shiro talked about Curtis — about safety, comfort, _home_ — and Lance understood. Here was the universe giving him another chance, with a man who’s never made him feel diminished. Who’s never made him feel lost or alone or not good enough. A man who’s never made him feel anything less than loved, even when they argue, even when they fight.

Someone he wants to love back.

The world seems so much clearer then. Brighter and more beautiful.

Lance swings his leg over Keith, straddling his hips and settling onto his lap. “I want to try, with us!”

This time, the words feel right. This time, the knot inside him unravels, catching the hook of his courage, spooling out of him. Keith stares up at him, wonderstruck, and Lance barrels on.

“You make me happy, Keith. You make me feel safe, that I have worth, that I can be myself again. I want to be with you all the time. I want— I want—” _I want to fall in love with you. I think I already am._ “I want to be with you. As more than friends.”

Slowly, as the words sink in, Keith cups his cheeks, hands trembling. “You mean it?”

He sounds so hopeful, so vulnerable, as if he’s on the verge of breaking. Lance gently touches the back of his hands and leans into the cradle of his palms, closing his eyes to treasure Keith’s warmth and touch.

“Yes.” 

“Really?”

Lance has never felt more sure of anything. “Without a doubt.”

Keith pulls him in, embracing him tightly like a lifeline in a storm. Lance melts into it, eyes hot with unshed tears, and he starts babbling, overwhelmed with feeling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize—”

He should’ve never made Keith wait, because his heart has belonged to him for a long, long time.

“Don’t be. Lance—” Keith draws ever so slightly back, pressing their foreheads together, his voice warm and fierce with ardor. “I would wait all my lifetimes for you, even if you never looked my way.” 

The tears spill down Lance’s cheeks, and Keith brushes them softly with the pads of his thumbs.

“Can I kiss you?”

Lance nods, heart soaring at the thought, and Keith leans in, gently cradling his jaw.

Lance feels everything. Every fingertip against his skin, tracing the crests of his cheeks. Keith’s scent, shrouding him, possessing him. Keith’s eyes, a galaxy of their own, holding him safe. He closes his own eyes just as Keith’s lips touch his. The faintest pressure, soft as a petal brush, yet it still makes him gasp, his heart stunned, and it’s not enough.

It feels like flying. A rush, a surety, like this was meant for them from the beginning.

“Kiss me again.”

Keith does so, fingertips of heat spreading into wide callused palms that cup his face. He bites Lance’s lower lip, drinks in his gasp, and delves his tongue in. When Lance pulls away for air, he chases after him. Lance threads his fingers through Keith’s hair, tugging gently, and Keith makes a noise that pools hot in his stomach.

“Lance, _Lance_.” Keith kisses like he’ll never be sated. Lance whimpers into his mouth, arching closer, craving more. A hand drops down to smooth around his waist, pressing him down against the slight roll of hips, the burning heat that he wants to disappear in. Keith kisses him wet and open, then soft and sweet, making Lance’s toes curl and his chest swell to burst.

They break apart only to catch their breaths.

“You’re glowing again.” Keith presses his lips reverently to the curve of Lance’s marks, skin stained faintly blue with their light. The sensation tickles ever so slightly, and Lance’s laugh bubbles out like champagne, his cheeks bright with joy. “So beautiful.”

“It’s because of you,” Lance tells him, because Keith deserves to know just how much he means to him. “You saved me when I was at my lowest, and you brought me back. To my friends, my family, myself. You make me so happy, everyday we’re together.” 

Keith kisses him again, gently shifting him down and pressing him against the hover bike. Kisses Lance silly, kisses Lance breathless. This stupid hover bike where all their adventures began. Where Lance met his rival, his teammate. His leader and his best friend. And now…

“Be mine, Lance,” Keith pleads, and Lance is aching, aching. 

It feels like he’s been waiting for him his whole life.

 

.

.

.


	6. spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1 — honne  
> lucky strike — troye sivan  
> euphoria — jeon jungkook

Whenever Keith laughs — really, truly laughs — it brightens the world like daybreak, darkness surrendering to the light. Deep-belly, earth-shaking. Lance can never tear his eyes away when it happens, pulled into gravity like a crossing star, fated to fall.

They’re together somewhere on a soft stretch of sand; toes sifting through the wet overlap between ocean and beach, hair tangling in the moon breeze. Keith’s hand is a comforting weight inside his, warmed by salt and sun. Lance holds him gently, tightly, cherishing every notch and callus where they fit together.

 _Lance_ , Keith calls, mouth citrus sweet against his. Together, they melt, dissolving into heat and light, ecstasy and pleasure. Keith’s sun-born laughter follows them, water beneath his skin sliding into cool linens, eyes opening to the gentle press of sunrise and—

Softly, Lance hides his face in the warmth of Keith’s chest, kissing the steady beat of his heart.

Waking up to Keith is always different, and always an experience he never wants to part from. Sometimes, he’ll jolt to consciousness with Keith smushing him into the mattress like a grizzly bear, drooling over his shirt or nuzzling the nape of his neck. Other times, Keith will be the one who gets all wrapped up, Lance’s ice cold feet seeking the warmth of Keith’s abdomen or wiggling between his muscular thighs. Who needs a heater when you have a half-Galra furnace in your bed?

And then there are times like this, when he’s hidden within the sanctuary of Keith’s arms. Lance sighs contently, snuggling as close as he can. The crown of his hair brushes Keith’s lips, the spot where he had been kissed to sleep last night, their blissful laughs fading into drowsy whispers.

“You slept through your alarm, sweetheart,” comes the warm rasp of Keith’s voice. “You’re gonna be late.”

“No I’m not, I’m not a student anymore,” Lance whines, ducking his head and dozing back into oblivion. Then, he bolts upright, realization hitting like a punch in the gut. “Wait, oh my God, _I’m a teacher! Keith!_ ”

“Sssshh.” A sleepy grin crosses Keith’s face as he pulls Lance back down under the covers. “It’s a snow day. I already checked for you.”

“Snow? Snow!!”

“Nope, five more minutes.”

“What happened to your morning run?”

“World cold. Lance warm.”

They wake up a few hours later, the sun already high in the sky. Sparrow song filters through the windows, and the lush, crisp scent of burgeoning spring dapples the air, tugging at Lance’s heart. He wiggles out from underneath the comforter, Keith groaning beside him.

“Good morning,” Lance sing-songs, flopping down over the other man’s chest.

“Mmm.” Keith blinks slowly up at him, grinning dopily. Lance laughs at how boyish and endearing the expression is.

“What’s with you today?”

“Nothing.” Keith reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, fingertips lingering at the edge of his jaw. Lance tilts his face and presses his lips to the heel of Keith’s palm in return, relishing the hitch in his breath. “You’re beautiful.”

“Wow, tell me more.”

“Handsome, gorgeous, sexy.”

“You’re such a poet,” Lance says, rolling his eyes even as his heart trips on air at the rush of compliments. “How the hell am I sexy right now?”

“You’re in bed with me.” Keith pulls him closer around the waist, pecking the tip of his nose. “I can’t think of anything sexier.”

Morning breath be damned, Lance kisses him, squealing delightedly when Keith rolls them over and presses him into the mattress.

They take turns in the shower, Keith leaning against the sink brushing his teeth while listening to Lance chatter and sing from behind the curtain. “Nads and Sylvie are coming over in the afternoon,” he calls later, voice traveling from somewhere in the bedroom, and Lance answers a muffled _mmkay_ from behind his face towel.

There’s already breakfast on the table, Rachel’s messy scrawl printed over a purple sticky note. “For the lovebirds :P,” it says, and Lance tries to crumple it and chuck it into the trash, but Keith plucks it from his hand and pockets it, distracting him with a cup of _café con leche_ made just right.

And just like that, they plan the day together over toast and jam, sitting together on the window seat, ankles hooked together. Keith needs to seduce the hens for some more eggs; Lance needs to put in laundry and shovel the driveway. It’s strange how it snowed so heavily during the night, but now the sun is bright as a lemon in the sky, not a cloud in sight.

When all the chores are done, Lance finds Keith squatting by the edge of the garden, Kosmo lying down beside him with his paws crossed, their heads leaned together as if they’re discussing something important.

“What are you boys up to?” Lance asks as he walks over to them. Kosmo yips excitedly, turning around and licking Lance’s cheek before bounding off, no doubt to hang out with Kaltenecker and chase more sheep. There’s three snow shapes sitting in the garden behind his wake, already drooping in the rising heat of the day.

“That’s you,” Keith says, pointing at the mini snowman with the blueberry buttons, “that’s me,” the snowman with the raspberry hat, “and that’s Kosmo.”

Lance stares at the lump that’s shaped like a hotdog, with its four stubby legs, little sesame eyes, and a potato wedge tail. He bursts out laughing before he can stop himself, leaning on his snow shovel for support. 

“What?” Keith frowns at him with a pout, looking genuinely affronted.

“Nothing, nothing!” Lance crouches down next to him, his laughter fading to breathy giggles. “Nooo, baby, don’t make that face.” He presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek, soothing away the frown, before smiling earnestly. “They’re adorable. I love them.”

Keith’s pout tilts into a small, pleased smile. “I’m gonna add Sylvie and Nads before they get here.”

“Lemme help!”

Half an hour later, the siblings come sprinting through the front gate, in awe of their tiny snowball selves. Together the four of them go sledding in the foothills, tumbling up and down nonstop. It’s probably the last snow storm of the year; Lance is glad his niece and nephew are able to make the most of it.

Keith is so good with them, too, catering to their every whim and desire. Lance remembers how nervous he’d been before, when they first met. But now, watching him chase the two troublemakers across the snow, making them laugh until their bellies cramp, Lance’s heart swells with fondness and warmth.

“Good day?” Keith asks as they head back home, the sun sinking behind them. His arm is looped around Lance’s waist, making it difficult to walk, but neither of them pull away. They create a game out of it, stepping into each other’s footprints, laughing and clinging tightly when they threaten to fall over.

“Best day,” Lance answers, kissing Keith’s grin. The touch lingers, deepens, until Keith is tasting the remnants of coffee in Lance’s mouth, tongue coaxing him sweetly open, fingers slipping underneath his jacket to trace patterns onto his skin. Lance loops his arms around Keith’s neck and lifts his feet up, wrapping his thighs securely around his waist.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith chides, laughter mingling between their breaths as he easily supports the extra weight, “the kids are watching.” 

They break apart ever so slightly, the cold tips of their noses rubbing together. “Kosmo teleported them away,” Lance says, stealing another kiss before Keith sets him down gently, broad hands grazing the curve of his spine. He shivers at the heat of them, toes curling inside his boots.

“Smart boy,” he hears Keith murmur, low and hoarse. Rough palms reach up to cup his cheeks, kisses landing on the delicate skin of his eyelids. Lance sighs into the woozy warmth of Keith’s care, hands fisting into the lapels of the older man’s jacket. “We should head back, too. You’re freezing.”

 _Wanna be with you for longer though_ , Lance almost pleads, _just the two of us._ But when Keith squeezes his hand, he follows obediently for the rest of the walk home, bantering back and forth about what they should have for dinner.

They settle on mac and cheese, because the siblings had a craving and Keith definitely encouraged them, lactose intolerance shoved aside. Lance can’t say no to the forces of all three of their puppy stares combined. He rests his elbows on the island countertop and watches them work together, Keith keeping an eye on the fire while Nadia stirs the béchamel and Sylvio grates the cheese.

When Keith turns his head to smile at him, soft and quiet, Lance feels the butterflies in his stomach flutter anew, tingling through his fingertips. 

He didn’t know that dating could be like this, so easy and comforting and overwhelming all at once. Easy because they fit so well together, Keith filling up all of Lance’s empty spaces, helping him navigate through the small and big hiccups of life. Comforting because they’re still each other’s best friends, still each other’s stability, except with the added benefit of cuddles and kisses, of course.

Overwhelming because… Well.

He’s never felt this way — this _much_ — for anyone in his life. Not for any of his past infatuations. Not even for Allura.

Like when they kiss, and it’s as if Lance’s heart can’t fit inside his chest, his lungs too bloated and his throat too tight. Warmth floods through him, heady and sweet, and every cell inside him seems to bursts like the bubbles of a soda pop, effervescent and light. The act is beyond physical, touching Lance in an unknown part of his soul that trembles and aches and glows.

Keith kisses him like he’ll never be sated, yet he always stops, just before their fire can burn the brightest. It’s driving Lance insane, the way Keith leaves him breathless and yearning without any reprieve. It feels like Keith is gifting him the best present in the universe only to snatch it away, over and over again.

He knows Keith wants him. He can feel it in the way Keith touches him. Every slow slide of his palm around his waist, the graze of his fingertips across his cheeks. The heat of him in early morning, hot and hard against his back.

Most days they’re too busy, some days Lance is too nervous. And other days — the most frustrating days — they’re interrupted. With each passing week, the hunger in Lance’s belly only grows, a beast of its own that wreaks havoc on his imagination. 

What would it be like, to make love with Keith? To touch skin to skin, everywhere? What would Keith’s lips feel like down his chest, his navel, his thighs? How good would it be, when Lance already feels like Keith’s chaste kisses are the best thing he’ll ever have?

Maybe he’s being impatient. Maybe something’s in the air. But whatever the reason, below and above it all, Lance wants Keith, deeply and desperately. It’s a dizzying sort of desire, one that terrifies him as much as it thrills him. He doesn’t want to wait any longer.

“Hey, you okay?”

The kids are setting up the table, and Keith finds a moment to pull Lance to his side, gently coaxing his head up with a hand on his cheek. He brushes Lance’s bangs apart, thumbing the edge of his marks that are twinkling ever so softly. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, anchoring them together.

“I’m perfect,” he answers, grinning so wide his eyes crinkle into crescent moons, and all he can see, hear, and feel is the man he’s falling for, sure and steady.

“That,” Keith says, leaning forward to press their smiles together, “you are.”

 

.

.

.

 

Lance makes his move during spring break, when everyone’s conveniently out of the house for vacation.

Mamá and Papá had decided on a visit to Havana, while Rachel and Veronica had left earlier this morning for a girl’s trip to Cancun. That meant the whole house, the whole _property_ , would be empty to Lance and Keith for the rest of the week. 

Lance can barely contain his excitement as he runs out the door, hugging his olive parka close to his body. His rain boots slosh through the dampened grass, dewy frost clinging to every blade. Pearly mist rolls across the fields as he makes his way toward the barn, the sun a hazy tangerine on the horizon. He takes deep, gulping lungfuls of air, the crispness nipping at his cheeks, sweet with the promise of warmer weather. 

Just as he predicted, Keith is there organizing crates of produce kept over the winter, joggers low on his hips and sleeveless shirt clinging to his skin. He’s been doing errands and inventory on the farm almost everyday after his morning run, often joining Lance’s Papá in the fields whenever he has a spare moment from his duties at the Blade headquarters. Now that Lance is slogged down by grading papers and running additional flight tutoring sessions after school, Keith has been an enormous help to his parents in his place. He couldn’t be more grateful for Keith’s thoughtfulness and commitment, or more enamored by his, well. _Everything_.

Lance leans against the entrance of the barn just to take a minute and admire him, eyes drawn to the sheen of sweat coating Keith’s biceps, his long hair loose in his ponytail. Every sinew of his body is sculpted, whetted in the burgeoning sunlight. Really, if looks could kill, Keith would be the textbook definition of it.

Lance licks his lips, throat more parched than the Sahara desert. Keith sees him and smiles.

“Look who’s finally awa— mmph.”

Lance tackles him in a kiss, propelled by a rush of boldness that catches them both by surprise. Keith’s arms immediately loop around his waist, their off-kilter weight stumbling back into a cushion of hay.

Lance lands on Keith’s lap, sprawled messy and provocative over his chest. Once upon a time, he would’ve been embarrassed by the position, Keith’s warm, amused laughter humming through his mouth, making him mewl. But now he tugs Keith’s lower lip between his teeth, sliding his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt to graze hot, flushed skin, eliciting a growl. When he drags his tongue against the roof of Keith’s mouth, a shiver throbs between them, pulsing hot and molten down to his gut.

“Stop teasing me,” he gasps. “I’m sick of waiting.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” Keith mumbles against his lips, groaning low and broken as Lance grinds down onto his thigh. Lance can feel his resolve slipping away with each feverish kiss, and he grins into it, body alight with fire and want.

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Lance reminds him patiently, biting the swell of Keith’s bottom lip to emphasize his point. Keith’s chest rumbles in approval, and Lance shudders against him, relishing the press of Keith’s forearms as he’s pulled further up onto the older man’s lap.

“I know, you’re—” Keith breaks away, moving his lips to the curve of Lance’s jaw, skimming his teeth across the sensitive flesh. “Everything. The beginning and the end of me.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

Lance pushes him away gently and starts unzipping his jacket, revealing a slip of bare shoulder, the honeyed skin of his chest. Something feral erupts from Keith’s throat, his pupils dilating in the pale, morning light. Quickly, he pulls the sides of Lance’s jacket together, covering him back up.

“Lance, I’m not—” Lance has never seen Keith at such a loss for words. It’s kind of funny. “I’m not gonna make love to you in a _barn_!”

“Why not? I don’t care where it happens.” Lance secures his arms around Keith’s neck, voice pitching low and sultry as he says, “Plow me into the hay, you strapping cowboy.”

Keith’s face erupts brighter than a forest fire, and Lance bursts out laughing.

“You’re— God, you’re driving me insane,” Keith groans, resting his head on the dip of Lance’s collarbone, nosing the soft heat of his throat. Butterfly kisses trail up his skin, and Lance sighs happily, gently cradling Keith’s jaw and tilting his face back up, morning blue meeting evening light. 

“Serves you right, for doing the same to me. I want you, okay?” Lance brushes their lips together, softening his tone to something shy and earnest. Pleading. “Make love to me.”

Keith trembles against him, arms tightening around Lance’s waist.

“Tonight.” He presses another kiss to Lance’s lips, sealing his words. “I promise.”

Lance releases a grudging sigh, whole body thrumming with warmth and anticipation. “I guess I can wait a _little_ longer.”

He yelps as Keith scoops him up, cradling him to his chest like a princess as he walks out of the barn. Hooking his wrists behind the nape of Keith’s neck, Lance pulls forward to smack sweet, obnoxious kisses all along Keith’s chin, cheek, and the irresistible line of his jaw, rough with stubble. Keith struggles in vain not to smile, clearly happy with the attention and affection.

“I can’t believe you came to seduce me in nothing but boots and a jacket.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, and hey,” Lance wiggles around just to be a brat, eyes sparkling when Keith grunts and holds onto him tighter, “it worked like a charm.”

Keith leans down to bite his nose, kissing the tip. “I’m not gonna let you out of bed until the end of spring,” he mutters, causing Lance to gasp, mock scandalized.

“I’m a teacher, I have to go to school! And you have the Blade to run.”

The determination in Keith’s eyes has Lance muffling his laughter behind his hands. “All those things can wait.”

Lance doesn’t know how he gets through the rest of the day, busying himself around the house and garage, waiting for Keith to finish his work. He does maintenance on Bessie, scrubs all the bathrooms, takes a shower two extra times, and spends most of the evening making an assortment for dinner, enough to feed a small army. Tragically, neither of them even really eat, but at least they have a solid amount of leftovers for the rest of the week now.

He paces around at the foot of the bed while Keith takes a shower, a trickle of minutes so slow it feels like a century, a millennia. If Keith is purposefully dragging out his shower time just to rile Lance up, Lance swears he’ll— he’ll—!

Keith steps out of the bathroom, a plume of steam billowing behind him. Lance pauses mid pace, nearly toppling to the floor before righting himself.

“Umm, why’d you get dressed?”

“You’re not exactly naked either,” Keith replies, cocking a brow. He finishes drying the wet ends of his hair with a towel, draping it over the chair at the desk. There’s the faintest trace of a smile curving his lip. It’s infuriating. It’s way too tempting. Lance aches to kiss it. “I told you you could join me.”

“I— I needed to prepare!” Lance flaps his arms, before crossing them to stay still. His foot starts tapping instead. “Mentally. Emotionally,” he tacks on in a mutter, voice petering out as Keith walks close, the scent of their shampoo encompassing him.

He juts his chin out defiantly, lips pursed, but all it takes is a smile from Keith for his stance to slacken to something soft and pliant. Keith’s gaze is liquid dark, a galaxy of their own. Lance wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life getting lost in them.

“Are you prepared now?” he hears Keith tease, voice a velvet caress down Lance’s skin. Their fingers slide briefly together, grounding him.

“Y-yeah.”

Keith lets him go, reaching for the back of his collar and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, abs and biceps rippling. Lance’s heart rate immediately skyrockets, his breath dissolving in his throat. In the warm, ochre light of their bedroom, he takes his time to admire his boyfriend, to memorize every facet of him. Now that he’s past his embarrassment, he drinks in all the details of Keith’s body shamelessly. The corded muscles of his broad shoulders, the deep scar cutting below his collarbone and the side of his waist.

His abs are, honestly? Unfair. Devastating, tapering down to the deep chisel of his v-line and a dark trail of hair. Lance can’t tear his eyes away as Keith steps out of the last of his clothes, heart as loud as a bass drum against his ribs.

He gapes, unabashedly starry-eyed at the gift revealed before him, until Keith tilts his chin up.

“Your turn,” Keith whispers, mouth a crooked slant, cheeks dusted with pink. Something like a whimper embarrassingly escapes Lance’s lips, heat cascading down his spine, the base of his belly throbbing deep and rich.

He struggles out of his shirt much less gracefully, and when he finally manages, his hair is mussed like a bird’s nest, cheeks hot with blood. He wonders how Keith had been so calm the whole time, his movements so sure and confident. Lance almost trips when he steps out of his pants, kicking them to the side.

They stand completely naked before each other, stripped down to their most intimate selves. Lance tries his best not to cover himself up. He takes pride in his appearance, and he’s kept himself in shape, but the rigor of his training isn’t what it used to be. His muscles are still toned — sculpted biceps, lean stomach, and strong, sinewy thighs — but they’re not as cut as they once were, not like during the war. There’s a softness to him now, whereas Keith is still sharp lines and brutal discipline, molded from the harshness of space.

Insecurity croons in the back Lance’s mind, taunting him, making it impossible for him to meet Keith’s eyes. There’s that awful scar on his back, too, from all those years ago. It never quite faded, raised flesh fragile and ugly and discolored.

But when he chances a glance back up, Keith is looking at him as if he’s something wondrous, and it steals his breath away.

“You’re so beautiful.”

His voice is hoarse, nothing short of awed. Lance’s heart beats inside his throat.

“Really?”

Keith nods, his expression devout in its reverence. “Really.”

Lance’s marks flare, bright as a pair of fireflies, flickering frantically. “You too,” he says in a rush, “you’re perfect. I don’t even care that you’re way more ripped than me right now.”

Keith laughs, leaning over to kiss the corner of his rambling mouth, his neck, down to the crest of his heart. Lance grips the tops of Keith’s shoulders, legs trembling, pleasure swirling through his veins thick like milk and honey. When Keith trails his lips back up, they kiss, slow and deep, savoring each other’s taste, reveling in the naked press of their skin.

When rough fingertips brush over the fringe of his scar, Lance can’t help but instinctively tense up, ducking his face to hide in the crook of Keith’s neck. Doubt pierces him as Keith gently runs his touch across the delicate skin, charting the star point at the dip of his spine to the edge of his shoulder blade.

“You have wings, love,” he hears Keith whisper, warm and rough against his ear. “Just like an angel.”

Lance shudders, fierce as a summer storm, losing coherency beneath Keith’s careful ministrations; wanting to deny, wanting to submerge himself in the happiness that floods though him at those simple words. But all that comes out of his throat is a soft, broken, “ _Ah._ ”

“And you have freckles here, too,” Keith notes, his praises seemingly endless, kissing along the broad grace of Lance’s shoulders where his sun marks have faded from the winter. “Every part of you is beautiful.”

“Keith, please,” Lance gasps, folding his arms around the older man’s neck, feeling like he’ll fall apart. He tilts his head to kiss Keith’s temple, his cheek, needing to silence that sweet mouth that’s melting him down, kindling the fire inside his belly. Keith licks into his mouth and strokes him wet and open, swallowing all of Lance’s whimpers and keens.

Gently, Keith lowers him down onto the bed, slotting between his thighs.

All at once, everything is heat, velvet. Overwhelming. Keith presses against him, and Lance’s breath stutters out of his chest, a gasp between the sticky, molten caress of their tongues. He looks down, where they’re aligned, whole body throbbing at the sight.

“Keith, I’ve never— Like, you know I’ve dated and kissed, _obviously_ , mostly with you, but— I never—”

“It’s okay. We’ll go slow.” Keith captures Lance’s lips again, tilting his chin up in a soft, lingering kiss. Lance quiets into it, finding comfort, a small shore of peace. Distantly, he hears Keith murmur, “We can stop if you want, whatever you need.”

“No, don’t you dare,” Lance mumbles quickly into the kiss, rolling his hips up as he hooks his ankles together, locking Keith close to him. “Please—” 

His voice splinters short at the sudden friction caused by his movement, pleasure piercing through as Keith’s growl thrums hot down his throat. He moans, wetness smearing the base of his stomach, white-hot stars bursting behind his vision. Keith grips onto his thigh, rocking them to a stop, slow and controlled.

An unbidden thought slips through Lance’s mind, clearing the haze just a little. “Keith, have you—?”

His cheeks burn at the mere notion of the question, a feverish cocktail of jealousy and embarrassment. He imagines Keith pinning a faceless man to the bed, laying him bare, kissing every part of him. He imagines Keith making that man moan and gasp and writhe, making him feel as good as Lance does.

“No. No I haven’t.” Keith kisses the ridge of his knuckles, bringing him back to reality. “It’s always been you, sweetheart.”

The tightness in Lance’s chest lessens, like a clenched fist going slack. Tremors pass through him still, nerves and desire blending into a potent mix, stronger than whiskey. He leans his cheek into the cradle of Keith’s palm, hiding himself in that solid warmth, letting himself be soothed by Keith’s fingers sifting through his hair. He breaths in deep, _one and two,_ sinking into the reassurance of the other’s scent.

“Don’t be nervous.”

“How can you be so calm?” 

“I’m not.”

Lance huffs, glaring at him lightly. “Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

Keith smiles, before gently taking Lance’s hand and guiding it up. He places it palm-side down above his heart, their fingers tangled loose, light against dark.

_Oh._

Keith’s heart is beating so fast.

It throbs through Lance’s skin, flickers through his veins, and for a moment, their heartbeats match, echoing against each other, becoming one.

“I’m nervous, Lance,” Keith says, and the truth aches between them. “Terrified.”

“Why?”

“I want to make this good for you.” Keith kisses him once between his brows, twice against the crease of his eyelids, gentle as rainfall. “For us.”

Lance leans up to seek the warmth of his lips, like a flower bud blooming beneath the sun. “You’re only ever good to me,” he whispers between a longing press, then another, and another. “I want to be good for you, too.”

The light of his marks stains Keith’s skin, every nerve inside his body tingling like a sky full of constellations. Each star is mapped out beneath the exploration of Keith’s touch — set alight, born anew. A sob swells inside his chest, as sure and inevitable as the ocean meeting the shoreline.

He feels as if his heart might bleed out of him, so overwhelmed by the love he feels for this man holding him, cherishing him. He wants this. _So much._ More than anything in the universe, he wants to have all of Keith, and to give Keith all of himself. Heart, body, soul.

A tear streaks down the crest of his cheek, one that Keith catches and rubs away gently.

“You are the beginning and the end of me,” Keith tells him once more, soft as a confession and reverent as a prayer. Lance smiles into their kiss, happiness spilling through teardrops, echoing the same words.

“I’ll take care of you. With all that I have. All that I am. I promise.”

 

.

.

.

 

In the early morning, Lance wakes up first, blinking against the light that feathers blue across their sheets. A gentle breeze trickles through the gap between the window panes, lifting the curtains, pale as honesty.

“Morning,” he whispers, feeling Keith stir beside him, head cradled against his chest. He watches as a sleepy smile crosses Keith’s lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes and wrinkling his lashes. Lance wonders if he’s having a wonderful dream.

“Mornin’.”

Warm, chaste kisses are mouthed along Lance’s sternum before Keith pushes himself up on the bed, head slumping against the pillow so that they’re face to face. Lance loves his bed hair. How wild and untamable it is. How it’s long enough to braid. How it smells like the citrus of their shampoo and the campfire scent that uniquely belongs to him.

“I’m like, not gonna be able to move today,” Lance admits, blush tinting his cheeks. “Probably not for the rest of the week.”

All his muscles are sore, aching deliciously, down to the tips of his toes. Keith laughs, a soft, breathy sound. He’s clearly pleased with himself, kissing the space between Lance’s brows fondly. “Let’s just stay like this then.”

“Make me breakfast in bed?”

“Anything for you.” 

There are dark circles under his eyes, probably matching Lance’s own.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little.”

“As a wise old man once told me, you need to sleep instead of scrolling through Spacegram all night.”

Keith laughs again, bundling him up close. Lance leans their foreheads together, a wave of pure, unfettered contentedness washing over him. They stay like that, simply holding each other, basking in the feeling of being each other’s.

“I’m always afraid I’m dreaming when I’m with you,” Keith whispers after a while, sounding half close, half far away. Lance traces the scar on his cheek, the bow of his lip, shuddering when Keith leans into his palm to kiss the inside of his wrist.

“Why?” he asks, watching the dawn limn Keith’s shoulder in gold, a crescent of sun in their small corner of the universe. The light brushes his hair and paints his skin; every purposeful stroke and beautiful mistake a canvas of art that Lance has come to cherish.

“Because I dream of you, every night,” he hears Keith say, “and now those dreams are real.” His words, torn apart with so much longing and love, bruise against Lance’s heart. “I’m afraid that someday, I’ll wake up and realize everything has only been a dream, and you’ll be gone.”

His chest aches. His heart soars. “Tell me about them, your dreams,” Lance says.

He pushes the covers off his shoulders, shifting up to settle over Keith’s hips. He watches the breath hitch in his lover’s throat; focuses on the light that unfolds through his eyes, dark and wide. 

_I’ll make every single one of your dreams come true. So that you’ll know I’m never leaving you. So that you’ll never be afraid of being left alone._

“Like this,” Keith whispers.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Just this.” Keith smiles up at him, beautiful and soft, and Lance does his best not to cry, even though it feels as if half his heart is leaving him, making a home in Keith’s chest. “Waking up to you. Being with you. Loving you. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

Lance’s tears streak down his cheeks as they kiss, warm as the light that blooms around them.

They make love, from dawn to dusk, mapping each other’s bodies and pleasures, committing them to memory. There’s always laughter between them, always a gentle push and pull, meeting in the middle. Keith above him, kissing the starburst birthmark behind his ear. Keith beneath him, bruising his hips and lacing their fingers together. Lance cherishes every moment, every instant they melt into one, over and over. 

“Did you know,” he says one night, mumbling around a mouthful of maple-drenched pancakes, “that you have a birthmark shaped like a hippo on your right butt cheek?”

They’re eating breakfast in bed, just like Lance wanted, for dinner time. Pure heaven.

“What?” Keith tears a sausage between his teeth, like a sexy neanderthal. He should shave, they both should, but Lance loves the feel of Keith’s stubble between his thighs. “Wait, really?”

Lance nods sagely. “I’ll take a picture for you. It’s adorable.”

“Not sure if I want to see my ass on a screen.”

Keith forms a fist with the hand that’s not holding his fork, resting his chin on top of it as if deep in thought. He actually looks… seriously conflicted. Lance crumples over with laughter, nearly snorting up his pancakes.

“Why not? You have a fantastic ass.” He really does, all firm and sculpted, the perfect place for Lance to hold onto.

“Yours is better,” Keith mutters.

“Take a picture then.”

Keith’s eyes light up at that, and Lance squeals as he’s tackled into the crumpled sheets, camera flash spotting his vision.

By the end of the week, he’s covered in bruises and teeth marks, budding along his skin like flowers. Keith is similarly covered in red-inked scratches down his back and abs, ones that he refuses for Lance to treat.

“I like them. If anyone sees they’ll know I’m yours.”

“If anyone sees they’ll think you got mauled by a bloodthirsty cat,” Lance grumbles, patting his face dry with a fluffy towel. They’re standing in the bathroom together, Keith’s jaw freshly shaven and Lance in the middle of his skincare routine. After so long without straightening the ends, his hair is a mess of curls, pushed back by a headband with two kitty ears that Nadia got him for Christmas.

“He’s the cutest cat in the world,” Keith says easily, casually, like his words don’t shake the very foundation at Lance’s feet every time. He wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, kissing the side of his cheek and smiling as the flush spreads across his face. “I forgive him.”

Lance tilts his head and nips Keith’s mouth, licking the swell of his lip. They lose themselves again, the small of his back hitting the edge of the sink, the hem of his oversized t-shirt lifting.

The week goes by like that. Too happy. Too quickly. Lance doesn’t wantMonday to come, even as the day approaches inevitably, and Veronica and Rachel are arriving back home next evening. It really does feel like a dream coming to an end. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking?”

“Hm?”

“We should move. If my family ever found out you ate me out on the dining table they’ll disown the two of us for sure.”

Keith chokes on his coffee cup, coughing into the crook of his arm. Lance wipes the stray flecks of liquid off the table with his dish towel, setting down a plate of bacon and eggs, arranged in a heart shape. 

“Did you—” Keith is struggling to form words, mouth soundless with tentative hope. Awe. “Did you just say you wanted us to live together? In our own place?”

“And what about it?”

Lance sits down and cuts into his food, trying to appear nonchalant while his heart flails in every direction, only to return back to Keith. He peeks up with a shy, twinkling look, unable to smother his smile. 

Keith surges across the table, cups his cheeks, and kisses him breathless.

 

.

.

.

 

The weather changes — clear morning sunrises setting to late afternoon showers, sating the earth. And for the first time in a long time, Lance dreams of her.

“Hello, Lance.”

“Allura?”

They’re standing in the field of juniberries he planted, the soil perfumed with quintessence and the scent of petrichor. Fireflies, strange and blue, float above the petals. They’re the only way he knows he’s dreaming.

Allura covers her mouth primly as she laughs at his bewildered expression. She is the same as the last time he saw her, just as beautiful as the day she left them. An ivory slip dress cinches her frame, shimmering like starlight.

“How are you?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her, eyes twinkling fondly.

“I’m— I’m good,” Lance manages to push out. It’s been so long since they last talked. So long since they said their goodbyes. He’s not sure how to feel. “Why…?”

“I’m only visiting. For now,” Allura answers, smoothing her skirt to sit down. She pats the space beside her. “I thought we could have a chat. I want to know how you and the other Paladins are doing. I miss all of you.”

“We miss you, too,” Lance says softly, sincerely. A weight clumps his throat, bitter and sharp. The taste stings his eyes. “Coran tries to hide it, but I don’t think a day goes by that he doesn’t cry for you.”

Allura’s eyes fracture with pain, a shadow of a smile flitting across her face. “I wish I could’ve spoken to him before I passed. That’s one of my biggest regrets.”

She takes his hand and guides him to settle, squeezing it gently. Lance regrets causing her to think of unpleasant memories. He doesn’t know what force of the universe has allowed them to meet, and this may be the only chance; he should be focusing on making her smile, not burdening her with more grief.

“Shiro got married,” he says. “He and Curtis are thinking of adopting.”

“Oh, I saw! From the astral plane, I mean,” Allura explains when Lance tilts his head in puzzlement. “I’m always watching over you guys. I didn’t know they were thinking of starting a family, though.” 

 _You should’ve been there. With all of us._ “Yeah, they want a girl. Shiro says he’s had enough boys after raising Keith.”

Allura tosses her head back, laughter spilling out, clear and bright as the stars above. Lance finds himself smiling too, the strangeness of this dream easing to a comfort. A blessing.

He tells Allura a lot of things. About the classes he’s teaching, Rachel’s adventures at the veterinary clinic, Lisa and Luis expecting their third baby. He talks about Hunk and Romelle on their diplomatic journey across the galaxies. How Pidge and the Holts are building the new generation of legendary defenders. How Keith is becoming the leader they always knew he could be, guiding the Blades and aiding the reformation of Daibazaal.

Allura listens avidly, expression fulgent with delight. Lance wishes the others could see her too right now, the way she sparkles, even from the other side. She tells him how the universe is healing, day after day, thanks to everyone’s efforts. She tells him how she couldn’t be more proud of everyone and how far they’ve come, how bright the future looks because of all their tireless work and love.

They laugh and reminisce and regale each other with stories until the first ink of dawn, the time passing by too quickly.

“Are you happy, Lance?” Allura asks as light extends above the horizon, a brilliant mid-summer gold. Birdsong echoes around them, mist softening to dewdrops that glimmer off the juniberry blossoms, unfurling beneath the rising sun.

And it’s easy for Lance to answer, images of his family coming to mind. His clever, compassionate students. His Kosmo and his Keith, waiting for him at the end of the field, arms laden with sunflowers.

“Yes. Very much.”

Allura’s marks shine.

“I’m glad. I’m so glad.” A tear slips down her cheek, and Lance almost panics before she smiles, shaking her head. “Lance, you must know that I think the world of you, that you have and always will be one of my closest, most trusted friends. And for that I owe you an apology, one that I should’ve given much sooner.”

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself.

“I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did. I’m sorry for causing you so much pain.” Her hands move to clasp his tightly when she sees he’s about to protest, a silent plea for him to listen. “I’m sorry our relationship was what it was. It wasn’t fair to you. It wasn’t fair to either of us. I cared about you, and I loved you in my own way, believe me I did. But it wasn’t the love you needed or the love you deserved.”

She takes one more breath, the light spreading around them, infinite.

“I can’t express how happy I am to hear that you’re all right now. To see it in your eyes, your smile. The way you _glow_. This is the happiness you deserve, Lance. This is the love you deserve. A love so good and true it radiates from you.”

_Love._

The word takes root in his heart — blooming between the spaces of his ribs, flourishing in the hollow of his lungs.

Could he say he understood what love meant now? To truly love. To be _in love_. Entirely, irrevocably.

He loved Allura. Perhaps not in a life-altering kind of a way, but in an earnest way. He had wanted them to work so badly, but they could never make each other happy when they were together, could they? Maybe it was the circumstance of the war. Maybe the timing wasn’t right. But regardless of what it was, what it could have been, they were never their truest selves around each other.

And that’s what love really is, isn’t it? That’s intimacy. To be able to show yourself to another, stripped down of all your armor, all your masks. To know that you’ll be safe with them, cherished as you are, no matter what.

Lance may have never had that with Allura, but he loved her still. Loves her, as he would an old friend. A comrade he admired greatly and protected the universe with.

Someone he’ll never forget.

“It’s okay, Allura. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He squeezes her hand back, smiling as the sun adorns her hair like a crown. She will always be his princess, the only one in the universe. “I’m thankful for what we had. I learned a lot from it. And I loved you too, but not in the way you needed or deserved either.”

Allura beams, drying tears glimmering off her cheeks. Lance knows that whatever weight she’d been carrying on her shoulders alone, it’s dissipated because of his words. His heart can rest easy knowing that.

“Tell him, Lance,” she says, letting him go.

“Tell him what?”

But Allura fades into the light, leaving only the scent of juniberries behind.

In the morning, Keith will rouse Lance from bed after his run. Kiss the corner of his lip. Tickle him awake if he must.

He’ll pull Lance into the shower, and they’ll kiss beneath the water. Slow and languid, simply savoring the lovely intimacy of being together. Keith will murmur, “I missed you,” sweet and full of sincerity, trailing his lips down the curve of Lance’s throat, the crest of his shoulder, ending always at the soft space above his heart. Lance will answer “I missed you, too,” meaning it with every fiber of his soul, even though it’s only been an hour since they’ve been apart.

_I know what love is._

_I know because I have you._

_Every time I see you smile, every time I hear you laugh. Every time we kiss, and I feel it down to my fingertips._

_That’s love._

This expansiveness in his chest, to reach and to be found and to be held with such searing and immense certainty. That this is who he’s meant for. That this is who he’ll throw his lot in with, whatever happens, whatever obstacles. _Just you and me, together against the world_.

Love is patience. Love is fearlessness. Love is baring himself in front of Keith and trusting him with every one of his broken shards, every one of his half-torn pieces. Trusting him to keep him safe, to help him accept his vulnerabilities and overcome his insecurities. To feel treasured in his truth, flaws and all, and to treasure Keith’s truth in return. 

Love is eating the _caldo gallego_ Keith had made for him, burnt fingers ladling the dish he learned and toiled over with Mamá, tasting so much like Lance’s childhood that tears had sprung to his eyes the moment it touched his lips, and Keith — _silly, selfless, wonderful Keith_ — had panicked, thinking he’d poisoned him.

Love is seeing Keith hold onto Lance’s third niece, those hands that have only ever known war cradling the newborn so, _so_ gently. Watching him rock her beneath the sunlight, whispering that he and his _tío_ will protect her, English mixing in with Spanish phrases he’s picked up from the family.

Love is listening to Keith hum a lullaby, voice soft as the envelope of rain, kissing Lance’s cheek. Drifting off and thinking, _what if we start a family of our own? You and me, you and me…_

Love is taking the time to catch up on each other’s day, dancing in the kitchen at three A.M., sleepless drives on empty highways finding comfort in each other’s hands. Love is every night they fall into bed together, and every morning after. Keith’s hair tangled between his fingers, Keith’s drool on his shirt. Kissing his smile until it overflows against his lips, staining him in adoration and happiness.

Love is the sunflowers that always fill their vase with, an eternal bloom of sunshine in the home they’ve built for each other.

“Why do you always bring me sunflowers?” Lance finally asks one day. They’re making _pastelitos de guayaba_ at the table together, sitting side by side. Bright yellow petals dapple the surface, smudged with flour, and the afternoon is so brilliant that Lance thinks they ought to have a picnic today, dozing in each other’s arms beneath the sun.

Keith smiles, saying the words he did that first morning, long ago. And this time Lance hears, pressing the sound of them to his heart.

“Because they’re you.”

 

.

.

.

 

There are moments when Lance is still scared.

Scared of Keith changing his mind. Scared of Keith leaving him. Scared that something will _take_ Keith away from him.

Someday, Keith will get tired of living this quiet life with Lance. Someday, he’ll blame Lance for tying him down, holding back his wings.

And beyond these thoughts that threaten to drown him, Keith folds him into his arms, a lighthouse on his shoreline, pushing out the dark.

“Will you go out in space with me again?” Keith asks, one night as they lay beneath the stars. Lance had flown them out to the field again, the hull of the hover bike warm against their backs, blanket thrown over their naked chests.

In the silence that follows, Keith holds him tighter.

Lance desperately wants to tell him, “Yes, I’ll go with you! I’ll fly with you again.” But his throat closes up, and his chest starts to heave. _What if, out there in the dark, vast universe, you disappear too? What if I lose you?_ His heart wouldn’t be able to take it. He wouldn’t survive losing him.

_Is that why you haven’t told him you love him yet?_

_Tell him, Lance._

_Tell him what?_

“Not yet. I will! I want to. It’s just—” He struggles to form a sentence, a reassurance. A promise. But the words won’t come out of his mouth, and he wants to sob in heartache, in frustration. Why is he still so scared? What is there to be afraid of? Nothing will take Keith away from him, not if Lance can help it.

“It’s okay. Ssshh, it’s okay.” Keith kisses his forehead, smoothing the stress lines there. “You don’t have to explain.”

But Lance can hear the pain in his voice, echoing through his own chest. And though he feels relieved, only for a moment, that feeling of heartache, of emptiness — _like a bird missing half his wings_ — doesn’t go away.

“What’s wrong, _mijo_?” Mamá asks him another night, several days later, somehow always knowing when he’s troubled.

They’re sitting on the steps of their front porch in the balm of early dusk, lilac darkness softening the edges of the world. There’s a plate of _pastelitos de guayaba_ between them, Lance’s perfectly uniform pastries and Keith’s misshapen ones crumbled on the blue china. In the garden, Keith is sprawled across the upturned earth laughing with Rachel and Veronica, nodding as they teach him how to grow carrots and the beetroots, attention utterly focused. His sleeves are rolled up, arms layered with dirt, and he is just as handsome, just as radiant, his open smile a warm slice of sun.

Mamá reaches over and presses her palm against Lance’s cheek, guiding him back. Her eyes are shining, a deeper shade of blue than his. _You have the ocean inside them, Mamá!_ Lance used to say. Lance has always loved her eyes the most; how they could always see down to the core of him, no matter how hard he tried to hide away.

For some reason, he wants to cry. This feeling that swells and swells, like the rising of the tide.

She used to be his shoreline, the one who kept him safe. The one he could return to, no matter how hurt or how ashamed. He doesn’t know when he started swimming away from it, to seek an adventure out in the depths. To find a shore of his own. To share it with someone else and call it home. 

He thinks of Keith’s smile in the mornings when they wake. He thinks of Keith’s hair spooled dark against their pillowcase. Thinks of his sword-callused hands, his deep bellied laugh. The scar on his hip. The way he burns pancakes. The way he can’t dance. 

“I think I love him, Mamá,” Lance finally says, and the words feel like home coming. Like star fall, like sunrise, an armful of sunflowers spilling against his heart. _I love him, I love him, I love him._

“More than I can bear.”

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [art for chapter 3](https://twitter.com/lianart123/status/1109512256365039616) — @lianart123  
> [art for chapter 5](https://ephemelody.tumblr.com/post/183042109705/art-based-on-ephemelody-s-absolutely-incredible) — @kaijukeith / @eolrie


	7. summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some kind of love — the killers  
> only one — illenium feat. nina sung  
> two — sleeping at last

Lance stares at himself in the mirror, frown caught furiously in the twist of his mouth. Between his fingertips, there’s a single strand of hair, glinting rust and silver beneath the mellow light. There’s probably more of them hiding within his mess of chestnut curls, but for the moment, he doesn’t have the heart to go search for them.

“Lance? What’s wrong?”

Keith appears by the door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. He takes one look at Lance’s sullen expression before crossing the short distance between them, arms looping around his waist to tuck him safe against his chest. Lance lets the strand of hair slip into the sink.

“I found a gray hair,” he sighs, long and defeated. Keith rests his chin on his shoulder, contemplative.

“You sure it wasn’t one of mine?”

Lance tilts his head to glare reproachfully at the older man’s thick mane of hair, black as midnight. He whips back forward when Keith leans in innocently for a kiss, eyes crinkling soft with bemusement.

“It was attached to _my_ head, Keith,” he grumbles, harrumphing with all his chest. Then, more quietly, “I’m getting old.”

Behind him, Keith makes a face, caught between incredulity and laughter. “You’re twenty-four.”

“Aged, ancient, like those giant parmesan cheese rounds,” Lance bemoans. He struggles petulantly around in Keith’s grasp when the older man snorts, laughter spilling rich from his throat. “Keith! I’m being serious! They keep those around for hundreds of years!”

Over his stomach, their fingers tangle, and Lance whines when Keith leans down to press an admonishing kiss to his temple, hugging him tight. _That’s not fair_ , Keith knows that. All of his kisses make Lance smile. 

“I was thinking you’re more like wine,” Keith murmurs, low and weighted with affection, full as a spoonful of honey. His voice washes over Lance, lips skimming the shell of his ear, and— there, see? Lance can’t help the curve of his mouth, dimple blooming against his cheek. “You only get better with age.”

“Okay, Casanova,” Lance gripes, surrendering to the warmth that purls through his chest like watercolor, gentle and bright. “Say those words to me again when I’m gray and wrinkly and missing all my teeth.”

“I’ll love you even more,” Keith answers easily, rocking them together, calm as an eddy. “Besides, we both know you’re going to be the best looking old man in the whole galaxy.”

His eyes slip softly shut as he nuzzles Lance’s hair, none the wiser to that one little word seeping into his lover’s heart, setting it alight.

 _Love._ It’s the first time Keith’s said that word to him since their sun-drenched afternoon almost a year ago, when they had held each other close yet somehow worlds apart. Lance had been fragile and overwhelmed and scared in the wake of Keith’s confession — aching in a way he didn’t understand, yearning for something he wasn’t fully ready to accept. But now he feels that ache, that _love_ , stronger and more abiding than anything he’s known in the universe. And he harbors it like a treasure at the bottom of the sea, like a dragon inside his fort, protecting it with all his might.

Lance pivots around on his heel, throwing his arms across the base of Keith’s neck to pull him even closer. Happiness swells almost painfully inside his chest, pressing against his lungs, making it hard to speak. So he pinches Keith’s cheek and plants a kiss on the lovely curve of his mouth, giggling softly when Keith mutters a deadpan, “ow.”

Gently, he traces the laugh lines etched there with the pad of his thumb, brushing up against that taut ridge of scar tissue. “Now you’re just sweet talking me for more brownies.”

“Is it working?” Keith murmurs, laugh lines growing wider as he smiles into their kiss. He coaxes Lance’s lips apart, slipping inside, and shares the taste of coffee and maple syrup. Lance hums delightedly, warm from crown to toe.

“Way too well.”

Laughter glimmers between them as Keith leans forward, dipping him down at the waist as if in a waltz. Outside their window, summer is finally here, green and gold and effervescent with sun. The scent of cut grass and clear water trickles in with the sound of Mamá’s radio, drifting sweetly from below. They should go for a picnic in the fields today; pick the plumpest strawberries from the garden and make a pitcher of lemonade. Lance will pile on top of Keith’s chest while he reads, watching his eyes roam the pages beneath his glasses, memorizing the way the breeze ruffles the ends of his hair, playful as a lover’s touch.

Lance thinks of the crinkles that will deepen around Keith’s eyes with age; the silver threads that will glow among the dark when they’re older. He thinks of how Keith’s hands will soften, veins velvet like lamb’s ear, fine bones worn beneath the passage of time. He knows he’ll cherish them all the same, those lovely, steady hands that have saved him again and again.

 _I love you,_ he wants to tell him. _So, so much._ Promise him that they’ll grow old together, _in sickness and in health; for better, for worse. Until our hearts run silent and at peace beside each other’s._

But the words get caught in his throat, a secret Lance can’t let go of, not yet. So instead he whispers, with all of his ache and all of his joy, “You’d be a handsome grandpa, Keith. And everyone will know you’re mine.”

The smile Keith gives him is enough to mend anyone’s heart. “Are _you_ sweet talking me now for something?” he teases. Lance laughs again, hiding his wet lashes in the crook of Keith’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin. _I only want you. Forever and ever._

“Can we stay like this? Just for a little minute.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Keith gathers him up, and they sway with the tide. “Anything you want.”

 

.

.

.

 

The universe doesn’t slow down with them.

Outside this time capsule they’ve built together, there’s still skirmishes and disasters and planets in need of repairing. There’s still responsibilities for the greater good, and promises left to fulfill outside their commitment to each other. Eventually, the Blades send a holosphere, Acxa’s static image appearing from the suspended device, voice too soft for Lance to hear what she’s discussing with Keith in the kitchen foyer.

He can infer well enough what the topic is about, though.

It’s been well over six months since Keith last left on a mission. In the back of Lance’s mind, he’s always been preparing for this day; knew it was inevitably coming. And yet, now that he’s faced with the reality of it, all of his practiced composure falters.

“How long this time?”

The question drops heavy in the silence despite Lance’s light, offhand tone. _This is what you’ve been afraid of. This is Keith leaving you behind._

“Lance—” Keith starts, soft, _so gentle_ , and Lance’s shoulders shake. He busies himself with his hands, scrubbing down the counter, grinding circles into the granite. “Lance, come with me.”

Keith reaches out, fingers grazing the curve of his shoulder. But Lance shrugs him off, not wanting Keith to see the tears burning hot behind his eyes. Not wanting Keith to realize how selfish and desperate and ugly he is.

_This is you losing him._

“How long?” he bites out.

“Lance—”

“How. Long?”

It feels like eons before Keith speaks again. “Three months.”

A sharp gasp stutters out of Lance. His spine breaks, just a breath, and Keith is there holding him up, lips pressed to the nape of his neck, whispering comforts Lance can’t bear to hear.

“You can come with me,” he hears Keith say, distantly, above the roar. “You could help us with the relief efforts, restore the agriculture on the planets scarred by the wars. You can fly again, Lance. Us, together.” 

Excitement colors his voice. Hope, raw and fierce. But all Lance can feel is the nausea roiling in his stomach, rising high past his chest, submerging his lungs. And all he can remember is the cold, unforgiving darkness of space, consuming someone he once loved.

He pushes out of Keith’s arms.

“I can’t.” The words tumble out of him, torn. “I’m not ready yet.”

“But you are, Lance. All those nights on the hover bike? I haven’t seen you fly so confidently in ages. I know you’re ready.”

“That’s different! That’s not—” _That’s safe. With gravity holding us together. With you right where I can see you and protect you._ “It’s too soon. I need more time.” 

“When will you be ready if you never give yourself the chance?!”

Lance flinches at Keith’s outburst, and he watches as regret instantly mars his features, the crease of his mouth softening along with his voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—” Keith sighs, and he sounds so tired, so lost. Lance stays still as he steps forward and reaches for him once more, gently grasping the crook of his arms. “I don’t want to leave you, either,” he whispers, a rough, broken rasp. “I want you back, flying with me. I want to have my space ranger partner back.”

The longing in his voice guts Lance unlike anything else.

“I don’t know if he’s ever coming back, Keith.”

That’s the truth of it, at the end of it all. Space holds too many memories of pain and loss, of suffering and defeat and goodbyes taken too soon, and Lance isn’t strong enough to face them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. No matter how much he wants to fly up there again, he can’t trust himself not to lose control in that endless void. The bone-deep fear crushes him into something small.

“Okay,” Keith whispers, gently maneuvering Lance until he’s sheltered against him. He kisses the crown of his hair, soothing the violence of his shudders. “Okay, I won’t force you. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Lance shakes his head, melting into the circle of Keith’s arms. He’s frustrated and upset and disappointed in himself, wishing he had the courage to follow Keith into the unknown, be his right hand man once more. But instead he cowers — deeper into the ocean, farther into his fortress.

“I have to leave by tomorrow,” Keith tells him, and it takes all of Lance’s strength to swallow down his tears. _Tomorrow, that’s too soon. Don’t go._ “Will you see me off?”

Somehow, Lance manages to nod.

That night, he doesn’t sleep, and it’s a long while before he feels Keith slip into unconscious, too. In the darkness, he counts each heartbeat, binding their rhythm into his own. And when the sun rises, he puts on his brightest smile, and makes the best damn pancakes of his entire life for Keith to eat his fill.

Acxa is outside waiting in the dawn with a sleek hovercraft, one that will carry them to the space station up in orbit. Veronica is going with them, and it’s a scrap of comfort that Lance clings tight to, knowing his sister will be there to make sure Keith doesn’t do anything stupid.

“Take care, Ronnie. Keep him safe for me.”

“I will,” Veronica promises, and for once she doesn’t push him either, understanding soft in her pale blue eyes.

When Keith emerges from the front door, he’s dressed in his Blade attire, hair tied back in a plait. The dark suit is skin-tight, with bands of violet fabric that highlight his broad shoulders and chest, marking him as the leader of the organization. The uniform reminds Lance of a younger Keith, walking away with his head bent low, weighed down by a sadness that Lance wishes he could’ve eased back then.

A moment of heated panic rises within him — _you’ll lose him lose him lose him —_ and then the cold douse of reluctant acceptance _._ Keith is leaving, and for the sake of the universe, Lance has to let him go. 

“I hate this uniform,” he mutters when Keith walks up. There’s a note of viciousness, a breath of longing as he adjusts the sash. And, only because he doesn’t want Keith to be heartbroken, because Lance is broken enough for the both of them, he adds, “Hate how good you look in it.”

The playful edge to his tone does the trick, the corner of Keith’s mouth quirking into Lance’s favorite smile. Keith gently grasps his wrists, holding him still from all his fussing and trembling. He hadn’t known how badly until Keith anchored him.

“Lance,” Keith whispers. Lance peers up, gazing into the war raging bright in those sloe-dark eyes. And then Keith is kissing him fiercely, deeply, until Lance can do nothing but hold on with all his might.

“Come home to me,” he begs against Keith’s lips. He has no heart left to hide his fear. Keith’s taking all of it with him, every bruised and bleeding beat.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Keith gives one last crooked smile, kissing the space between Lance’s knuckles, before separating their hands. Lance watches as his figure disappears into the hull of the hovercraft; as the ship lifts into the air, becoming a faint, distant star in the lightening sky. He doesn’t know when Rachel gently touches his shoulder. He doesn’t know when they walk back inside.

On the kitchen table, there’s a single sprig of sunflower beneath the slant of sun, blinding the words written on a page of notebook paper. Lance picks it up, and his tears finally fall.

 

_I love you._

_— K_

 

.

.

.

 

The days all blend together.

There’s sunlight, and then rain, and then humid, muggy heat. But Lance can’t feel any of it, as if all the warmth and color of the world has been leached away with Keith’s absence. Everything seems less vibrant, muted, despite Lance’s best efforts to remain cheerful and upbeat. The remainder of the month trickles away slowly, and June slips in silent as a wraith.

The star system the Blades travel to is too far this time, across several light years of space, so the calls between them are scarce. Video is near impossible with the static constantly breaking them apart, and eventually, they have to give up. Some nights, Lance waits until dawn for a single call to connect, just to hear a snatch of Keith’s voice, a two-second split image of his tired, smiling face. Anxiety gnaws like a starved creature inside his gut, chewing through the marrow of his bones, replacing his insides with the hollowness of regret.

How did he let Keith go all those other times? How did he bear it? Kosmo’s comforting presence is all that keeps him together now, along with his students who do their best to distract him, knowing something is upsetting their teacher deeply enough to scar.

_Why did I let him leave? Why didn’t I go with him?_

The note sits in his pocket, right against his heart. _I love you,_ Keith had said.

_Why didn’t you say it back?_

He starts sleeping in their bedroom less and less, and spends more nights at the Garrison, slumped over his desk with Kosmo resting beside his feet. He takes the offer of teaching summer flight classes to keep himself busy, and for the excuse to stay near the headquarters where the Blade transmissions are being sent to, so that Veronica can keep him updated on progress as often as she can.

Sleep is often fitful without Keith next to him, though exhaustion mercifully claims him despite his restless nerves. Most nights, there is only darkness behind his eyelids, or nightmares to rock him awake in a sheen of cold sweat. Then there are the dreams that hurt even worse — the ones where Keith is still with him, real as the splinter staked deep inside his chest. Those burn through him, even in the daylight hours.

Here, in this dream, he’s blowing out a pyre of candles, too many to count. Keith is sitting beside him, hand paper-thin and wrinkled inside his, warm and strong as a patch of afternoon sun. He kisses Lance’s cheek, smile pressed against his ear as he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

The candles go out.

Allura is standing in the juniberry field once more, beneath a plum dark sky and a canvas of stars. The stars wheel as she turns, and the smile on her face is somehow fond, somehow sad.

“Did you know,” she begins, as the stars blur into films of white, drowning out the world, “that when I looked through the universe, in every world, in every reality, it was always you and Keith at the end?”

Around them, scenes flicker in palettes of color and bursts of sound. Memories and moments Lance has never seen before; places he’s been to and periods of time he’s never experienced. There’s Keith, the first day Lance met him at the Garrison, sallow-faced and bruised around the mouth, glowering at no one, at everyone, as if it was him alone against the world. Lance remembers the twinge he had felt in his belly even then, when Keith had been nothing but a lonely stranger, a beautiful boy with indomitable eyes. He remembers how he had offered a hand, and Keith had pushed him away without a second look back.

But there, in a universe to his left, is a reality where Keith had taken his hand. Gripped him tight and smiled meekly in response to his beam. Became his flight partner, his best friend; still rivals but as close as they are now today, Keith’s strong arms wrapped around his waist to lift him up in victory. Lance had followed him when the Kerberos mission collapsed, and Keith had held him through the long, long night, anchoring himself in Lance’s warmth and touch.

Lance feels the echoes of that world sift through him — every stitch of heartbreak, every torn breath of love. His chest aches like a bruise as each moment ripples through his soul, all the separate realities and intersecting timelines, where it’s him and Keith, always, together at the end.

They are childhood sweethearts on prom night, sharing their first kiss in a crowd. They are strangers at a midnight station who both missed the last train; they are friends who watch each other marry another and realize their mistakes. They are lovers who fight and scream and reunite in the rain, and lovers who cherish each other gently, steadily, until death did they part and remake. 

They are the paladins of Voltron, piloting Blue and Red, Red and Black. And it takes them light years and galaxies to find each other, to hold the other’s heart in their hands. But on a sun-drenched afternoon, when one of them breaks and whispers, _I love you_ , together they build something anew.

No matter how hard, or how long, they always find each other. Come back to each other. Fall together. And no force in the universe is strong enough to tear them apart.

“Don’t be afraid, Lance,” Allura says when the stars fade and the sun rises, taking all the pasts and futures with them. “Love bravely, as you always have. Tell him while you still can.”

 

.

.

.

 

On the hottest night of the summer, Lance jolts awake to a call.

He’s bundled up against the monitor of the Blade-Garrison headquarters, spending another night outside of home. Pidge had set up a cot for him a few weeks ago, along with a blanket for Kosmo to curl up on. Around them, Pidge herself is sprawled across an armchair, along with Matt who’s drooling on the floor with the Holt family robot, Chip.

It takes him minutes to hear above the static crackling from the phone against his ear. It takes him seconds to understand that it’s Veronica, words slamming into each other in a frantic, terrifying rush, just as the monitor flares to life, blaring a scarlet, bleeding red.

“Ronnie, slow down, what?”

Lance swings his legs over the cot, and in his periphery, he sees Pidge and Matt both scramble to consciousness simultaneously, racing toward the control panel that’s receiving an onslaught of incoming calls.

“Lance, Lance it’s Keith. He—”

Lance listens, shell-shocked and numb, as Veronica describes the situation.

“The planet’s collapsing. There’s too much debris in orbit for any of the ships to reach him. He— he told me that if anything ever happened to him— I should—”

Bile surges from the pit of his stomach, heaving to his throat. His whole body begins to shake as his blood turns to ice in his veins, his limbs barely holding himself up, panic and fear and _you’ll lose him you’ll lose him you’ll lose him_ suffocating his breath, strangling his heart as it thrashes and sobs. “Veronica. Stop. I can’t— I can’t—”

“Lance—”

“No, you get him out of there, Ronnie!” he screams into the phone, chest in tatters and tears clouding his sight. _I can’t lose him I can’t I can’t please please no—_ “You have to!”

“We’ve tried, Lance. But we can’t risk any more men for him. I’m sorry, I’m so—”

Lance drops the phone and runs.

Behind him, he hears Matt shouting emergency protocols, Pidge calling after him, and Kosmo chasing him, but Lance doesn’t stop. He has to get to the flight deck. He has to get to Keith — somehow, some way — even if it kills him.

_I never told him I loved him. I never—_

Keith, all alone on a dying planet. Who loved Lance without ever asking for anything back. Who held him as if he was the most precious thing in this universe and the next. Keith with his sun-born laugh that could soothe all of Lance’s worries and pains; Keith with his kindness and strength and fierce, gentle heart, guiding Lance back to shore when the world had gone dark. 

There’s no ship with enough fuel to carry him to the edge of another galaxy where Keith is. There’s no portal on Earth powerful enough to teleport him to the remnants of the dying planet. His ankle rolls from under him mid-stride, and he smashes onto the concrete, skin tearing against the asphalt. Sobs wreck his frame as he struggles to stand back up, breaking him down with each heave of his arms. His fingers scrabble through the grit, Kosmo whimpering beside his head, and he can’t breathe above the grief ripping through his lungs, cleaving him from the inside out.

Up above, the stars have never felt so far away, and so, so cold as they gaze down at him silently. _Please,_ he begs, to no one, anyone. _Please don’t take him away from me._

What will he do if he never woke up beside Keith again? Kiss him good morning and whisper their plans for the day? Feel his smile against his cheek, feel his hand around his waist? How would he live without half of his heart, the whole of his sun? He couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t want to, not without him.

_Please, please, please. I need to reach him. I need to save him. Show me a way._

From within, a hot, stabbing pain erupts behind his sternum, coursing through his limbs. Lance manages one, shuddering gasp before he sees it — the light emanating from his skin, waves of silver blue that pulse brightest from the skin below his eyes. Ribbons of incandescent light unfurl from his bloodied palms, cascading past the tips of his fingers to converge in the air above. The space in front of him unfolds — a sliver at first, and then the width of a hand, darkness blighting out the pale lilac dawn. Beyond the portal, millions and millions of stars flare and shine, answering the call of Quintessence pouring out from Lance.

In that moment, he understands instantly, this power that’s been hidden inside him all this time, constantly humming beneath his skin. He stumbles up onto his feet and directs the flow of energy into that fragile rift in space, driving all his desperation — his strength, his love — to force the gap apart. He strains against the resistance of the universe, more brutal and heavy than any mountain or sea. Yet somehow he endures it. Overcomes it.

“Need a hand?”

Allura appears next to his side, and if it weren’t for the gasps resounding through the field, he would’ve thought she was a figment of his imagination again, or her astral body projected down to Earth. The marks are her face, now a lilac shade, glow silver to match his. Lance feels the power surge between them, burgeoning from a singular point. The magic ignites, charging the air, and the wormhole opens fully, the universe swirling beyond its gate.

From above, the sky billows, pulsing with heat and electricity. A red star appears in the atmosphere, growing larger and larger with each passing second, until — with a great roar, the mechanical beast lands on the dock with a resounding crash, splintering the concrete.

The Red Lion. She had answered Lance’s cry for help. Tears well hot in the base of his throat as Red’s immense jaw unhinges, her body lowering into a crouch. He casts one last grateful look to Allura, who squeezes his hand briefly, before sprinting up the ramp and slamming into the pilot’s seat, consoles lighting up and flickering.

Red hums around him as he initiates her engine, their minds syncing together, his heart and her soul beating as one.

“Take me to him,” Lance pleads.

He grips the controls.

And flies.

 

.

.

.

 

Lance will always remember the first time he piloted Red.

She wasn’t the same as Blue — not at all, their touch as different as their elements — yet somehow they understood each other instantly. Inside Lance’s mind, she had felt, in a way, like Keith. Brimming with fire, passion; an unrelenting protectiveness toward the people he loved. Overflowing with a bone-deep loneliness that had ached in Lance’s gut. In retrospect, maybe that was why Lance had melded so well with Red, because Keith had left him a piece of his heart that Lance had unconsciously filled, soothing all that fire and pain with a part of himself.

Keith’s love had surrounded him, even then. Lance simply hadn’t realized it.

As the wormhole opens right on the outskirts of the collapsing planet, its atmosphere glutted with rocks and meteors, muscle memory takes over, his movements intuitive. Being a pilot, being a paladin of Voltron — it’s still an undeniable part of him. That overwhelming rush when he soars through the infinite matter of space. That electrifying adrenaline that roars deep in his veins. The sensation is pure freedom, lush and unfettered.

Yes, the flashes of memory are still there, choked full with terror and pain and the mark of losing someone forever. But there’s also the memories of the first time he flew with the other paladins. The first time he met Blue. The first time he formed the wings of Voltron with Keith. There’s the memories of their first touch and their first kiss. That happiness he felt the night he told Keith he wanted to be with him. That peace he grew to embrace when he realized he loved him.

He should’ve gone with Keith when he asked. He should’ve told him how he felt, with the entirety of his heart and soul, instead of hiding it deep inside him as if that would protect who he treasured the most.

Lance navigates through the wreckage as smooth as a silverfish through calm waters, dodging asteroids and boulders and floods of debris, the surface of the planet coming into sight within seconds. As soon as Red hits the ground, he shoves on his helmet and grabs his bayard, forgoing his armor despite the storm raging outside.

In the harsh bedlam of shrapnel and dust, Lance searches desperately for any sign of Keith, heart striking like a battering ram against his ribs. Through the wind and chaos and darkness, it’s nearly impossible to see. Grime clots his visor and grit stabs into the soles of his bare feet. Every second ticking by leads closer to when the planet will consume itself through the force of its inner gravity.

“ _Keith! Keith!!_ ” Lance screams, his helmet feebly projecting the call. But his voice is snatched away by the maelstrom he stumbles through, every shape the same, no sign of life in sight except for miles and miles of rubble and ruin.

Just as panic begins to overtake his senses, Lance nearly runs into a massive boulder, something against his ankle halting his movement, catching his fall. Through the scree, he spots a glimpse of violet, then a leg, half a torso. The boulder is crushing most of the body. There’s so much blood soaking into the earth. Everything becomes horrifyingly clear for one, endless moment, before the image is consumed by a wave of static that drowns out the stampede of thoughts pulverizing his mind.

Quickly, Lance drops down onto his knees next to Keith, hands scrambling against the colossal stone, trying to push the boulder off him.

“Lance?” Keith suddenly murmurs, face and voice marred with blood. There’s so much blood, all over, staining his skin black. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, love, I’m here.” Lance reaches for his cheek, gently tilting his head to see those beautiful damson eyes, muted gray with agony and a swift, encroaching darkness. He tries to smile through the terror in his heart. Tries, with all his strength, not to break down then and there. “It’s me. It’s really me. I’m gonna get you home.” 

Even in his delirium, Keith manages a weak smile in return. “Lance,” he sighs, as if seeing him alone has eased some of the pain. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we fought before I—”

“Stop talking like it’s over!” Lance snaps, that terror surging like the wail of a trapped animal inside him, spreading through his shaking limbs. “It’s not, you ass, you—!”

“You really have wings,” Keith whispers, eyes slipping shut, still smiling as if he’s finally at peace. “Flying to me…”

“No, no Keith, love, stay awake for me, don’t you dare—!”

Heat and energy pour through Lance once more, submerging all his senses to a searing focus, his whole body seething alight. He doesn’t remember much after that; he’s glad he can’t recall. With an immense shove he slams the boulder off of Keith, and then he’s cauterizing the wound, staunching the blood loss, heart torn to shreds at the agony of Keith’s screams.

When he finally manages to shift Keith onto his back, the Blade commander is limp and cold against him. The crimson haul of the Red Lion glares through the thrashing storm, now at a screeching, fever pitch, and Lance stumbles as fast as he can toward it, his rolled ankle dragging behind him.

As soon as they crash through the entrance, Red starts back up, so in tune with Lance that she doesn’t need a command. The ship rumbles furiously as they make their ascent through the thundering clouds, fighting against the crushing gravity and buffeting wind. Lance clutches onto Keith the whole time, rocking him gently as he searches for a pulse, sobs thick and clotted inside his chest.

“Keith, baby, _please_ ,” he begs, voice hoarse with anguish. He presses his lips to Keith’s forehead, clammy and cold as ice. He doesn’t look back as the planet collapses completely behind them, swallowing itself whole in a burst of violent light, nearly pulling Red with it. His arms circle around Keith as the ship jerks dangerously, resolute and unflinching in his determination to protect him from harm’s way until the very end.

“Stay with me, okay?” He strokes Keith’s blood-matted hair, pressing warm kisses to his stiff eyelids and bloodless lips. “I’ll get you home, and we’ll make pancakes, your favorite with strawberries, that sounds good, right? And I’ll fly with you, everyday. I’ll keep you safe. Just— please, _please_ … Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

Lance murmurs promises into Keith’s skin until his throat scrapes raw and his chest burns hollow, fighting the helplessness that threatens to sink him as he searches for a sign of Keith’s pulse. Then, faintly, in the divot of his wrist, Lance feels a fragile beat, clinging to the last strand of life. Hope stutters within him, wings fluttering desperately, and Lance clutches fierce onto that thready pulse, intwining it into his own. Quintessence flows through him, pouring from his palms and trickling down his blood-soaked fingers. Blue melts into red, throbbing in billows of violet as the light surrounds Keith, sinking into the rivers of his veins. Lance’s marks ache sharp beneath his eyes, the cadence of his own heart diminishing painfully in time with the rhythm of Keith’s, building, building slowly.

As the stars blur past and the light years fade away from them, Lance clasps Keith tight to his chest, and prays, prays, prays.

_You’re my sunflower. You’re my happiness._

_Please don’t ever leave me._

 

.

.

.

 

After landing in Altea en route to Earth, Keith doesn’t wake for another two days, even though his vitals are stable.

“It’s a miracle!” Coran declares, flitting back and forth in the room as all the machines beep in unison, measuring Keith’s condition. “He shouldn’t have survived the injuries he had, and yet, it seems you saved him from the brink of death because of your connection with the Quintessence inside him, Lance! It’s only a matter of time before he wakes now.”

Lance lays his head against the ledge of the bed, one hand curled over Keith’s, thumb measuring the pulse on the side of his wrist despite knowing _he’s here, he’s alive, the worst has passed._ Their hearts beat as one, a strange after effect that Coran takes care not to pry into too much — not now at least. By the bedside, flowers and ‘get well soon’ cards spill across the table, along with Keith’s favorite strawberries that drip off onto the floor. Krolia had rushed from Daibazaal the moment Red breached Altea’s atmosphere, and Shiro and Curtis had flown over as soon as they heard the news as well. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance’s family had all piled into the Castle of Lions, forcing Lance to take a quick trip into a healing pod. He hadn’t realized how much of a mess he was himself, limping on a swollen, broken ankle with deep gashes all along his arms and legs from shards of rubble.

“How do you think Keith would feel when he wakes up, knowing you suffered like this to save him?”

Krolia’s question had been what convinced him in the end, after making Rachel promise him that she would look after Keith in his stead.

Now, as the laughter of children filters through the tall, latticed windows of the infirmary, the Altean morning crisp and blue, Lance waits as calmly as he can, grounding himself in the comforting warmth of Keith’s hand. Juniberries shimmer in bright punches of pink just outside, tufts of gold pollen floating on the breeze. The world moves on, and it aches like nothing else. _Come back, Keith. Come back to me._

“He’ll be awake soon, my boy,” Coran says, placing a reassuring palm over the crown of Lance’s head. “Don’t fret.”

He promises he’ll return for another check up later in the day, before walking away to update Krolia and the other paladins.

Lance buries his tear-soaked lashes into the soft creases of the sheets, focusing on the control of his breathing. The delicate skin beneath his eyes are already chafed raw from tears, and— _Krolia’s right_ —he doesn’t want his wreck of a face to be the first thing Keith sees. Coran promised that he would wake, so Lance will hold on to that promise, imagining everything he’ll say to Keith. How much he’ll yell at him for scaring him like this; how much he’ll kiss his dumb, reckless face and pour every ounce of love he’s held back.

“Hey, sunflower.”

The voice falls like a drop of rain, whole with sunlight.

Lance lifts his head, tears instantly springing to the corners of his eyes when he sees Keith’s smiling face, awake and so, so wonderfully alive.

“Keith!”

Relief crashes through him, forceful as a riptide, moving with him as he bolts onto the bed and into Keith’s waiting arms, forgetting all his bruised, anguished thoughts. Laughter rumbles weakly from Keith’s chest as Lance burrows into him, doing his best to avoid all of Keith’s sore spots.

“What took you so long?!” Lance sobs as they sink into the pillows together, surrendering to the warm, roaming press of Keith’s lips, brushing away his tears. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Keith whispers earnestly, and he listens with a small, tender smile as Lance reprimands him through hell and back, nodding and agreeing to all of Lance’s anxieties and woes, stroking his tears away all the while.

When everyone else bursts into the room hearing the commotion, Lance stays right where he is, protecting Keith from the pile of hugs until he’s crushed bodily, too. Coran swoops in, chasing everyone aside, and Lance has to wait outside with the rest of them as Keith’s health diagnostics are run, pacing back and forth down the hall.

Coran reappears after what feels like a decaphoeb later, humming pleasantly. Lance rushes toward him, not even noticing how Hunk, Pidge, and company all exit with matching, knowing looks on their faces. He halts when Coran reaches out and pats his shoulder, blue eyes crinkled with amusement.

“I know you two want to gizzle like a pair of Arusians at a spring time equinox,” he says, “but please refrain for the sake of Keith’s recovery, understood my boy?”

“Coran?!” Lance shrieks, scandalized. He has no idea what any of those words had meant, but they certainly sounded blush-worthy. The wisened Altean chuckles as he walks away, his steps lighter than they have been in a long, long while.

Lance watches him go for a quiet moment, heart easing back to normal, mouth lifting into a smile. Perhaps Allura had managed to visit her caretaker, too, after the awakening of Lance’s dormant magic had somehow managed to bring her back to the earthen plane for a brief pause of time. There’s still no explanation for how that happened, and Lance knows the Holts will be crowding him with questions soon enough once they return to Earth.

The future is full of possibilities, and plenty of time.

When Lance steps back inside the room, Keith is sitting up, waiting for him with an open spot on the bed. He crawls into that space, settling down, the feeling of homecoming washing over him as Keith’s warmth and scent surround him completely.

“So,” Keith rasps, rough but healing, tinged with fondness and a stroke of awe. “You can open wormholes, lift a two ton boulder, and bring someone back to life?”

Lance flushes under the weight of his mesmerized stare, feeling a feverish mixture of relief, pride, and shyness. “I mean, it was only half a wormhole,” he mumbles, quite humbly for his standards, “and you weren’t actually dead, just—”

“You’re incredible,” Keith interrupts, and the sheer admiration in Keith’s voice robs all the air from Lance’s throat. He hides his face into the dip of Keith’s shoulder, curling up against his side, whining with pleasure and embarrassment when Keith captures his hand and kisses each knuckle, slow and reverent. “You saved my life.”

Lance untucks his face from his hiding spot, half-glaring at Keith with a pout. “As if you haven’t saved mine countless times, space ranger partner.”

Keith kisses his forehead, smile broad against his skin.

“You flew Red to save me.”

“I did.” The Lion purrs happily in the back of Lance’s mind, still resting and recharging outside the Castle. “She gave me an earful for not keeping you out of trouble, which, fair. I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

“The horror,” Keith drawls, looking entirely too pleased at his former Lion’s meddling. Lance lightly punches Keith’s shoulder on instinct, but then jolts up in a panic when Keith hisses, clutching his arm.

“Oh my God, Keith, I’m so sorry! Let me go get Coran!”

His floundering is halted when a strong pair of arms wraps around his waist, dragging him back down firmly to a broad, thrumming chest. Lance blinks as Keith grins up at him, fanged tooth glinting.

“I’m kidding.”

“You—!”

“Does this mean you’ll fly with me again?”

Lance’s hackles melt, happiness fusing with the knowledge that Keith is feeling better enough to rile him up like this. He tucks a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear, love and affection swelling hot in the ashen remains of his chest, repairing with every touch of Keith’s laughter.

“Yes. I’ll fly with you. I’ll join the Blades on their missions, and I’ll have your back as your sharpshooter.”

This is what he should’ve said before Keith had left. This is the resolve he should’ve held fast to, guiding him forward into the future. And though his courage is late in coming, it feels so right in this moment, steadfast and unwavering. _Love bravely,_ Allura had told him. With all his might, with all his heart.

“Lance, do you—” Keith starts, but Lance sits up, gently pushing him back down.

“Wait! Before you say anything else, please.”

Keith stares up at him, quiet, and curls Lance’s trembling hands within his, eyes achingly soft.

“I’ve been so, _so stupid_ ,” Lance says, breath shuddering out as the words knotted tight inside him finally unravel. “A complete idiot. I’ve been so afraid of losing you that I never told you what I’ve been meaning to say until it was almost too late. And I never, _ever_ want to experience what we went through again, especially without you knowing exactly how I feel.”

Images of Keith’s lifeless body, coated in blood, flash through his mind once more, buffeted by the soothing weight of Keith’s hand on top of his. Keith is _here_ , Keith is alive, and he is in love with Lance in a way that Lance never knew love was capable of existing, of thriving and growing. It’s about time Keith knew just how much of that love is returned — one, ten, a thousand-fold.

“I love you, Keith Kogane. In all the worlds, in all the realities, I love you and only you.”

For the rest of his life, Lance thinks he’ll always remember the smile that blooms across Keith’s face, more beautiful than all the stars.

“My turn,” the older man hums, keeping Lance’s hand wrapped against his heart. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to get a burger together because I’m starving, but I think I’m full now with that confession of yours.”

“K-K—” Lance is struck speechless by the playfulness of Keith’s reply, when he had poured his whole being into that confession. Heat erupts to his head, mouth closing and opening uselessly. “ _Keith!_ ”

Keith tucks his arms around his waist, dark eyes brimming with light. “You didn’t have to say it, because I already knew. But those words were everything I’ve ever wanted to hear so I decided not to stop you.”

“Knew?! What do you mean you knew?!”

“Your raging heart boner for m—”

Lance quickly claps his hands against Keith’s laughing mouth, cheeks the equivalent of a hot oven about to broil over. “No! No, I did _not_ teach you that so that you could use it against me! You still have to eat!” He pushes away so that he can reach the button on the side of the bed. “I’m calling Coran, and then room service, and then—!”

Keith tugs him back down, tilts his face, and kisses him quiet. 

 

.

.

.

 

There’s a new scar on Keith’s thigh, wrapping around the side and cutting right across the top. Pink and dark, it’s healed over completely, scar tissue corded like a rope against pale skin. Lance strokes the ridge of it tenderly as he massages the muscle there, sweat cooling off his shoulder blades, belly thrumming hotly with aftershocks of pleasure.

“C’mere,” Keith murmurs, hand reaching out to cup his jaw. His smile is slow and full, satisfied with a drunken sort of glow, and Lance answers it with his own curved lips against his palm, kissing the inside of his wrist. Carefully, he sinks down, spooling languid as a cat over Keith’s warm chest, hips snug between those strong, healing thighs. Against his cheek, Keith’s heart drums steady, solid and loud and echoing.

“No more near dying on me again, okay?” Lance tilts his head so that he can glare at Keith firmly, chin resting against his sternum while his index finger traces patterns along his side. Amber pools glint from the dark forest of Keith’s eyes, catching the slant of the afternoon light.

They’re back on the McClain family estate now. Back _home_. Keith’s smile is easy, languid, as if he hadn’t just survived the brink of death less than a week ago. “How could I,” he says, “with you watching my back?”

His fingers comb through the soft ends of Lance’s hair, now long enough to be a mullet of his own, an observation Keith made that he had received an elbow jab to the stomach for. Lance huffs and hides his face in the center of Keith’s palm, whining dramatically.

“I’m so out of practice though!”

“We’ll train together. Everyday, up at five for a three mile run and then two hours of combat practice.”

Lance shudders, shaking his head vehemently. “Nuh-uh, no way, drill sergeant. I refuse to compromise on my beauty sleep.”

Keith pinches his cheek, and Lance bites at his thumb, giddiness swirling low in his stomach as Keith growls.

“You are—”

He bats his lashes. “An absolute angel.”

Keith snorts, unable to smother the fondness in his expression. “I changed my mind. You’re the devil.”

“Who you _adore_.”

“Yes,” Keith surrenders, gathering Lance up higher onto his chest and nipping his mouth, “yes.”

That soft rush, that gentle thrill whenever they touch. No matter how much time passes, the feeling that blooms inside Lance will always seem new to him, heady and exhilarating between his lips. _Love_ , Lance thinks, as Keith sits up and Lance straddles his hips, their tongues meeting in a deep, soul-wrenching kiss.

Broad, callused hands smooth over the small of his waist, thumbs digging into the dimples there, rocking him gently in time. Moans fall thick from Lance’s throat as he loses himself in the lush heat of their lovemaking, in the hoarse, breathless praises that Keith sings in his ear. Afternoon sunlight drips down their skin, sticky and sweet and intoxicating.

They don’t speak again for a long while.

“Will you go somewhere with me?” Keith asks as the sun begins its slow descent beyond their windows. Lance is tucked inside his arms, dozing in the afterglow. Keith kisses his forehead, rousing him awake.

“Anywhere,” Lance mumbles drowsily, nuzzling into the heat of Keith’s throat, dappled with blossoming bruises.

It takes them a while to get dressed, with Keith’s sore limbs and his roaming lips, trailing down Lance’s stomach as if he’ll never be satisfied. “You’ve deprived me for two months,” Keith grumbles as Lance drags him out the door, keeping out of reach from his trailing fingers. 

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to go somewhere.”

“And you’re my impulse control. You should’ve stopped me.”

Lance rolls his eyes, trying his best not to look as delighted as he feels. “C’mon you big puppy.”

They take the hover bike, Keith at the wheel and Lance tucked in behind him, relishing the dash of wind against his face and the heady summer heat blowing through the folds of his shirt. They stop by a flower shop on the way out of town, blue hyacinths and white calla lilies, wrapped in twine. An inkling of a thought settles in Lance’s mind as the journey slows to a stop, the surroundings unfamiliar to him.

Keith guides him through the rows of gravestones, the sun-drenched cemetery hushed in prayer and solace. At the edge of the field, near the bow of a willow tree, a lone grave stands apart from the rest, darkened in shadow by the shallow dusk.

“Dad, I want you to meet someone.”

Keith rests one hand against the arch of the engraved stone, while the other holds Lance’s hand steady, leading him forward. Together, they sink down into a kneel, flower petals spilling onto the earth. Lance carefully places the bouquet down in front of the words that mark the grave, finger gently tracing over the inscription as Keith stands back up and begins to speak.

“Dad, this is Lance. My best friend, my flight partner, and…” Keith pauses, gently helping Lance back up and turning to hold his gaze, eyes molten with warmth. “The love of my life.”

Lance flushes at the bold, open devotion of his words, and somehow it feels as if Keith’s dad is right there with them, watching with a warm, amused smile.

“You know how I’m fairly rough around the edges with most people,” Keith continues, voice trembling ever so slightly, though his hand remains strong and steady around Lance’s. “I put walls up, and I push people away. Yet somehow Lance stuck with me, stood by me, and got past all of my barriers. When I needed someone the most, he was there for me, supporting me with all his might. He’s the most honest and compassionate and wholesome person I’ve ever met, and I hope even a shred of his kindness has rubbed off on me. He’s taught me a lot.”

“Keith…” Lance says, memories flickering through him, syrupy as the fondness that pools in his chest. “You’re like, the softest teddy bear on the inside,” he whispers, remembering the moment they saved Shiro together, to their dumb fight at the Altean pool, to the words they spoke to each other on top of the Black Lion, watching the sunset on their last night on Earth. “I gave you a hard time, too.”

Keith leans in to kiss the soft hair at his temple, his smile as golden as the light that engulfs them, sun sinking on the horizon and the stars rousing above.

“He’s saved my life, multiple times, and I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him. There’s no braver, better man out there in the universe. There’s no man I’m more proud of to give all of myself to, for as long as he’ll have me.”

Lance feels his heart clench and swell, overwhelmed by the love he feels, pressing against the base of his throat. He shakes his head, quickly turning to speak to Keith’s dad himself.

“Mister Kogane, your son Keith…” he swallows, trying to grasp everything he wants to say. Everything he wants Keithand his dad to know. “He is so strong, and so brave and so _good_ , always jumping in to save someone just like you. You couldn’t be more proud of him. I know I am. It’s been the greatest privilege in the universe to fight by his side. It’s been the greatest gift to love him and to be— to be loved by him.” Tears blur his vision, his shoulders trembling as they slip down his cheeks. “Thank you for raising such an amazing person. He’s become half of my soul. I love him entirely, and I wouldn’t be the same without him.”

Life continues, and the world spins on. If there had been a universe in which Lance never met Keith, he knew he would’ve lived comfortably, easily, but not the same. Not this happy. Not this perfect. Lance is whole on his own, but he is better, brighter, with the love of his life.

Keith pulls him in, kissing away his tears, whispering warm, sweet comforts into his skin. Even in the heat of summer, Lance shivers at the drop of temperature, coolness trickling through the field with the breeze. Keith takes off his jacket and drapes it around his shoulders, before tucking him close once more until their noses bump, their laughters twinkling in a world blue and hushed.

“You make me so happy,” Keith whispers, soft and aching against Lance’s mouth. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me?”

The question slips from him, so effortless and natural. Lance leans back, surprise flickering inside him, mind struggling to catch up. He knows the look on his face must mirror the one on Keith’s. “I— I mean! Just a thought, no pressure or anything— mmph!”

Keith tilts his jaw and steals his words, leaving him breathless and longing. Lance melts into the circle of his arms, dissolving into their kiss, blood slow as honey as it thrums through his veins.

When they eventually ease apart, Keith asks, “Do you mean it?”

His dark eyes catch the final embers of light. There’s so much hope and wonder and adoration reflected there. Lance has never seen him look so full of joy, full of peace.

“Yes, without a doubt,” he answers, voice weighted with conviction. With love. He holds Keith’s hand against his cheek, running his thumb down the tendon to the pulse of their matching heartbeats. “I want to marry you,” he says, and no other words have ever felt more sure, more right. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and grow old with you, and tell you how much I love you, every single day when we wake up together and you are the first thing I see. I love you, Keith. And I promise I will love you with everything I have, through this life and the next.”

In the atoms of space between their lips, their bodies, the twine of their souls, Lance hears Keith’s soft, euphoric murmur:

“In all the worlds, in all the realities, I love you, too.”

.

.

.


	8. epilogue, autumn again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say you won’t let go — james arthur   
> corners of the earth — odesza   
> sunflower — post malone, swae lee

On the morning of an endless summer, the sky a wash of blues and rose-tinted red, Keith gifts Lance a field of sunflowers.

Beneath the thrall of sunrise, in the hushed sigh of slumbering dawn, Lance walks through the field, gilded in eaves of gold. Wind sifts through the soft amber of his hair, curls lifting like dove wings above the shell of his ear. He tilts his head heavenward, freckles pale stars across his cheeks, and his smile is a bloom of radiant warmth, illuminating this corner of the earth.

Adoration. Loyalty. Happiness. That’s what a sunflower represents. And that’s what Lance has always been for him. Strength and sunlight, holding the sole space in Keith’s heart.

When he had found that sunflower standing in a razed, empty field, Keith hadn’t known it was the last. The only thought that had crossed his mind was one person, one name. The only man he’s ever loved. In his mind’s eye, as their family and friends walk through the field together, Keith sees himself plowing every row and planting every seed, watching the blossoms grow tall and strong. He sees Lance’s Mamá and Papá standing in the field, raising him up from his knees and giving him their blessing. He never told Lance that every sunflower he’s gifted him over the years is a piece from this garden, but… Gazing at the light that unfolds in Lance’s face, Keith thinks he knows.

He built this place for him. Their eternal summer, their eternal spot of sunlight.

The small, velvet box sits heavy in his pocket, along with a worn piece of notebook paper. The Blades and the McClain siblings have all been teasing him nonstop, ever since Rachel caught sight of him thumbing the ring in his hands, tracing the inscription on the inside. He’s had it with him for months now, waiting for the sunflower field to be in full bloom; repeating all of his and Lance's shared moments inside his head, to remind him to have courage, to have faith in what they have. 

What had Keith seen while he was unconscious for those few days, drifting in that space between life and death? He had seen Lance, in every version of his existence, in every alteration of their shared timelines. Inside each of them, Lance had told him, _I love you_ , _Keith,_ and it had made Keith never want to leave those dreams.

But his Lance had been waiting for him in this world. His Lance had flown through half the universe to reach him, to save him. To tell him, _I love you Keith— in every world, in every reality—_

“Lance,” Keith calls, watching the other man turn and walk toward him, blue eyes shimmering like jewels in the dawn. 

“Love, what is it?”

Lance taught him to speak from his heart, yet words somehow fail him now. Keith pulls out the sheet of folded paper from his pocket, the ink on his fingers stark against the white page. Above the tide of blood in his veins, he sees he's smudged all the sentences, wrinkling the paper so badly between the sweat of his palms.

He never wrote much before he met Lance. Yet everyday, Lance has given him something to write about, beneath the dying lamplight.

His hair tangled dark against the snow, noticing the brownie he had snuck into bed but laid only half eaten on his pillow. Things he mumbled in the fields, softened in twilight, his oversize sweater slipping to show a moment of scarred shoulder when he turns too fast.

The flour on his cheeks, the half-moon of his laugh, unconsciously he lifts a fraction of his blue muffler and tucks it over his head, as if to block off the world.

Keith wrote about him even before they were together, every time ending with the words: _he is so beautiful._

On all the planets he’s been too, through all the galaxies he's crossed, Keith has seen a thousand sunsets, a thousand sunrises. He would trade every last one of them for one morning with Lance, to wake up beside him and see his smile, more lovely than anything else in the universe.

_Millions of space and light years of time… are all worth less than a moment with you._

He tucks the blurred note away and anchors himself in Lance’s hands instead, because in the end, he knows the words he wants to say, burned through the core of him. Lance cradles him and holds him steady, listening with tears shining in his eyes as Keith tells him everything he’s treasured inside for all these years, through all the worlds they’ve traveled to together, fighting and laughing and loving, side by side.

“…Through this life and the next, I promise to be patient with you, to support you, to love you with every atom of my existence until the end of time.”

He sinks down to one knee, takes the ring out from behind him, and looks up at the man who’s finally with him, in both dreams and reality.

“Lance, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Lance breathes, tears falling like stars as Keith slides the ring onto his finger, the sun spilling across their field of sunflowers. Infinitely, infinitely. “Yes.”

For the rest of their lives, they’ll face the universe together.

 

.

.

.

 

_You’re my sunflower._

_I think your love would be too much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's read, shared, and reviewed this story; from the bottom of my heart, thank you so, so much.


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